


In The Dark

by dutch (itsevanffs)



Series: The Shakespeare Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Bathing/Washing, Coercion, Dubious Consent, Horseback Riding, Incest, Inspired by Hamlet, Manipulation, Multi, Obsessive Tom Riddle, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Tom Riddle, Power Play, Pseudo-Incest, References to Hamlet, Sane Tom Riddle, Slow Burn, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Unhealthy Relationships, look it's complicated but you'll get it soon enough, mild infidelity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27032998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsevanffs/pseuds/dutch
Summary: Bella threw her head back and laughed, the sound like little bells. Harry wondered how such a beautiful woman could have a personality like rotten fruit. "Is that a threat, ickle bickle prince Potter?" she cooed.Harry said nothing, firmly looking away, and she suddenly turned serious."Duke Thomas is a powerful man," she hummed in a low tone. "I've been acquainted with him for quite some time, and he's always gotten what he wants."In a bastardisation of Shakespeare's Hamlet, Harry's mother remarries shortly after his father's death to James' half-brother, Thomas, much to Harry's confusion and disgust. First a duke, now a king, it seems that nothing will stand in his uncle's way when it comes to getting what he wants. Not Lily, not propriety, and most certainly not Harry himself.
Relationships: (Minor) Lily Evans Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: The Shakespeare Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059347
Comments: 223
Kudos: 365





	1. The New Normal

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me if I'm missing tags, please and thank you. If it eases your minds, consider this entire fic a character study. I know it's fucked up, I know it's wrong and immoral and that I shouldn't romanticise it, but does that stop me? No. You can't accuse me of not being self aware :^)
> 
> This has been some time in progress (a few months now) and I decided it was time to follow through and stop teasing people with it. There is more to come, so stay tuned for at least two more definite chapters before I may or may not abandon it! Most likely not, but famous last words, as they say...

The day of his father's burial was cold.

Harry stood there in swishing black robes as the wind whipped around them, his mother at his side. She was crying, tears streaking down her cheeks while she futilely dabbed them away with her handkerchief. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her eyelashes were wet, her face neatly obscured by the customary black veil.

Harry pursed his lips as he turned away from the sight of his father being lowered into his tomb by the funerary men, unable to bear the reality of it. It was mid-February and the sky was a dull gray- it would rain, later, but not until the evening. Below them at the base of the burial hill, thousands of people were gathered to mourn for King James, all dressed in dark, thick cloaks and pressed white shirts.

Lily collected herself as the entrance to the tomb sealed slowly shut, and stepped forward, James' old wand in hand. Endlessly loyal, the wood had lost its magic when James had lost his life, and was now no more than an oddly-composed stick to Harry's mage-sense. Still, she lay it on the smooth white marble as was customary, and raised her own wand, a white spark forming at the tip.

Harry followed her example, and watched with heavy eyes as the crowd below them followed, thousands of little lights sparking up to light faces that blurred together and faded into a mass of black and white, further obscured by the gray of the sky. In the distance, a spark burned brighter than the others, its bearer flanked by dark shapes and taller than the crowd. Harry couldn't make out who it was from that distance. He didn't care to try harder.

Lily released the spark into the air, at last, and Harry let it go, too; ignoring it all as the thousands behind them did the same. The light lit the skies and reflected in the polished marble.

 _King James Potter IV_ , read the golden plaque on the tomb. _1925-1981_.

Harry closed his eyes, swallowing against their burning. His father had died young- not even sixty. He, like other magical people, could have lived to two-hundred, at the very least, but he succumbed to illness far before that- the same illness that left Harry's mother barren and had not touched Harry at all.

A tear slipped down Harry's cheek as he opened his eyes once more, and he found himself meeting Lily's red-rimmed eyes. She smiled, watery round the edges, and tilted her head, fiery locks spilling over her shoulder. Another tear trailed down her face, unbidden, following the tracks the ones before it left.

"It'll be alright, Harry," she whispered, hands clutching her wand hard enough that Harry feared it might break. Harry stepped toward her without thinking, gloved hands reaching out to cover hers.

There they stood, in the darkening sky, pressed forehead to forehead, relishing in the memories of a husband, of a father, hand in hand, wand pressed to wand in a display of familial intimacy rarely dared to be shown in daylight.

In the distance, thunder rumbled across the dark skies.

Come April, Harry was still at home, comforting his mother for both their losses, although he spent more and more time catching up on his classes in his study as the weeks rolled by. He was dimly aware she had been taking a visitor, but he didn't know whom, nor did he care to find out. Instead he busied himself, taking rides with Hedwig, his lovely white mare, around the palace grounds, and talking to the stable boy, Ronald Weasley. Ron -almost all the younger Weasleys were referred to by their first names; there were simply too many in the palace’s employ- always had something insightful to say- he noticed quite a lot of the goings on around the palace, which Harry could admire. 

“Neville produced a new hybrid a few days ago- he showed me this morning,” the boy said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It’s really pretty, I suggest you check the greenhouses- it looks almost crystalline. Should be in the Wales greenhouse, toward the back. It’s quite easy to spot.” Ron finished saddling Hedwig with a pat to her flank, and began to lead her outside. Harry moved out front, settling to the side to wait for his mare to appear. When she did, he smiled and moved toward her, raising his hand to her head. She breathed against him for a moment before pushing her damp nose against Harry’s hand. Harry’s smile widened, then saddened when he saw Prongs standing alone in the shadow of the stables, almost out of sight.

Harry shook his head subtly to force the grief aside, then swung himself on top of Hedwig, settling comfortably on her saddled back. Ron handed him the reins and Harry tipped his head toward him in thanks.

“I’ll be back by lunch, I believe- don’t wait up for me,” he said to Ron, who nodded.

“Stay safe, Your Highness,” Ron said, saluting with a cheery smile.

Harry let out a breath of laughter and coaxed Hedwig into a gentle pace while he moved away from the dried mud surrounding the stables and onto the path leading through the palace woods. Harry believed he’d explored every inch of the forest spanning several miles of the countryside, both in rain and sun. He was aiming for the Black Lake, today, named so because of its dark, glassy water, like liquid obsidian. The sun was shining heartily in the post-winter haze, coaxing the grass into rising from the ground once more. The golden rays felt warm on Harry’s face, and he closed his eyes for a moment, trusting Hedwig to follow the path while he was distracted.

It was an easy pattern, this ride; almost too easy. Harry grimaced when the thought of his father’s death trickled into awareness again, cursing that he could see the traces of the man everywhere. Had they not ridden along this path together the previous summer, before James had succumbed to illness, laughing together at lame jokes without care for royal behaviour?

Harry forced his mind onto other things once more. His mother had been calming down lately, the smiles from before his father’s illness returning slowly but surely. Harry was sure it was the visitor- it couldn’t be anyone else. Harry sighed, hating that he cursed her for leaving it all behind so quickly even as he was relieved she was no longer the heap of misery that she’d been in the two weeks after James’ death.

The trees parted before Harry and opened out to frame the Black Lake, new leaves sprouting from the branches hanging over the water, casting small, flickering shadows on the white sand framing the mirror-like surface. Harry slipped off Hedwig, running his hands along her flank in a comforting gesture before he grabbed ahold of her reins and bound her expertly to a thin but sturdy tree, leaving enough leeway for her to graze at the fresh earth. Harry himself perched on his favourite lakeside boulder, smoothened by years of use, and closed his eyes once more, allowing the sun to warm his skin for a minute or two before he opened his eyes once more and reached down to undo his boots and slip his feet out of them and his socks, placing them on a smaller boulder beside his.

Harry folded up his trousers with swift fingers, ignoring the way the hairs rose on his calves when the cool spring air brushed them, and stood, digging his toes into the soft sand. Below the sun-warmed top layer, the sand was damp and cool, and the contrast felt greatly pleasing to Harry. He dug his right foot into the sand and twisted, unearthing the lower layer of sand, uncaring for the sand that stuck to his feet. His wand was tucked comfortably against his forearm, so he could clean it away whenever he wished.

Harry, bored of the sand, turned his attention to the water brushing calmly against the shore. The wind carved gentle ripples in the smooth surface, making it seem like an alive thing. In all probability, it was- the bottom of the inky black water harboured a magical squid and a population of grindylow, restrained by a runic barrier as they were from the top eight feet of water, although sunlight and oxygen were permitted through. Not that it mattered- Harry would not be swimming today. It was far too cold.

He stepped closer to the edge of the water until it was licking at his toes, then stepped forward, and again, and again, until the black was up to his ankles, obscuring his feet. Harry shivered at the cold creeping up his legs, wrapping his arms around himself. Behind him, Hedwig snorted, the reins ringing like little bells as she shook her head. Harry turned to look back at her for a moment, before turning back to the lake. He dug his toes into the sand again, under the water, shivering as the movement displaced the warmed air around his feet, inviting a rush of ice-cold past his toes. Harry thought they might just fall off, and smiled, tightening the hold of his arms around himself.

Behind the trees, something shifted, dark. Harry would have missed it were he not trained to look for suspicious things in his youth. As it was, his eyes snapped to the place, his figure tensing, wand jumping to his hand with a thought.

“Who goes there?” Harry demanded, cursing his terrible eyesight for what was not the first time, and would definitely not be the last. Nobody answered. A few moments passed before the bushes rustled, and Harry raised his wand, shifting into a defensive position-

The head of a doe came peering out of the shrubbery, curious black eyes staring at him for a long time, unmoving, just as guarded as Harry was, before it backed up and bounded away, the rustling of its movements carrying to Harry’s ears in the silent space. Harry swallowed, relaxing, and tucked his wand back into its holster. He kicked his feet idly in the water.

 _Stupid,_ he berated himself inwardly. _Paranoid after your father died- ridiculous._ Harry scowled and turned, trudging back to the shore and toward Hedwig, who stood there patiently, chewing idly. Her amber eyes looked alert, but she betrayed no panic, further cementing the realisation that Harry was truly being paranoid. Harry raised a hand to stroke over her nose, and she tugged at his robe with her lips. With a wave of his wand, Harry summoned his boots and socks to him, cleaning off his feet with a muttered spell. In a few moments, Harry was fully clothed once more, swinging once onto Hedwig’s back after undoing her reins from the tree.

Harry looked over the lake once again, checking if he’d forgotten something. Again, a shadow caught his eye that was not supposed to be there, and Harry’s lips pursed, his brow lowering into a frown. Without wasting time, he turned Hedwig back to the path and set her on a firm gallop back to the stables as the clouds gathered overhead ominously.

The forest rushed by in a rush of sights and sounds, and the chill wind whipped across Harry’s face in surprisingly brutal strokes. Harry grit his teeth and kept going until the end of the path was in sight, firmly ignoring all the familiar landmarks reminding him of his father. Hedwig tossed her head in protest, and Harry allowed her to slow down, muttering a low apology to her ears as the stables came into view across the fields. Harry continued Hedwig in a steady trot until they were only yards away from the entrance of the stables. Harry halted Hedwig and slipped off her back, grimacing against the ache in his thighs and backside.

His mother was waiting for him there, her red locks curled neatly over one shoulder, a mild smile on her lips, the crow’s feet around her eyes visible yet not as pronounced as they had once been.

“Harry,” she said affectionately, stepping forward and unclasping her hands from in front of her to rest them on his shoulders and kiss him on the cheek. “I’ve been waiting for you to get back. There is someone I wish for you to meet.”

"Mother," he greeted her back, allowing a smile of his own to play on his lips. "And who may this person be?"

"It's a surprise," his mother said easily, turning and walking back toward the palace. Harry handed Hedwig off to Ron and followed her, speeding up so he was walking alongside her. 

Curious, Harry looked up at the windows of the rear facade of his home, finding an unfamiliar shadow standing at the window of one of the more elaborate sitting rooms. Harry narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

"How has your day been?" he asked instead, turning to face his mother respectfully as he walked. "I've been out with Hedwig, but I'm sure you already knew that."

"It's been well," Lily answered with a smile. "I'm glad things are slowly becoming normal again for you, too; it's been a while since you've gone riding."

Harry tilted his head lightly. "I suppose everything goes back to normal after enough time," he said, "or the current state of things becomes the new normal."

At that, his mother smiled wider, then hid it quickly. Nonetheless, the spark in her eye that had fired to life at his words remained. "Indeed," she murmured, and Harry held the door open for her as they entered the palace.

They, to Harry's building displeasure -not that he would be as insolent as to show it to his mother, gods forbid- were heading to the sitting room that Harry had seen the silhouette in. Harry suspected he would be introduced to the visitor his mother had been taking, but for what reason, he could not fathom. At last, his mother stopped before the door, and Harry opened it and let her through before going in himself and closing the door behind him.

When he turned around once more to face his mother, he was surprised to see a man rising from where he'd been seated, looking remarkably like the silhouette Harry had spotted earlier. Harry carefully ensured his face didn't morph into a frown and stepped forward, looking expectantly at his mother, who was standing awfully close to the man for Harry's liking. The man himself was tall- taller than Harry's father had been, and definitely taller than Harry. He was broad-chested and had dark hair and eyes, and a handsome smirk that immediately set Harry on edge.

"Harry," his mother said, "this is Duke Thomas of Lancaster. Thomas, this is Harry, my son."

The man, Duke Thomas, smiled wider and tipped into a low bow. "It's truly a pleasure, Your Royal Highness." He righted slowly, and the look in his eyes made Harry's heart pound, the blood pulling away from his face. Adrenaline sparked through his veins.

"The pleasure is all mine," he said, trying to compose his voice, which had sounded breathier than he'd intended, probably because of the sudden need for air in his lungs. Something was _horribly_ wrong about this man. Harry turned to his mother for help, but she seemed oblivious, eyes fixed on Duke Thomas with that same look she'd turned on Harry's father many times before James fell ill- starstruck, a light flush on her cheeks. Harry paled, icy dread curling through his stomach.

"Harry," she said, and Harry could barely conceal the horror in his eyes. She didn't notice, eyes glued to Duke Thomas' handsome face, which, in turn, was fixed on Harry with rapt attention, catching every twitch, every flutter. "Thomas and I will be getting married on the spring equinox- just over a month from now. I thought it good to introduce you now; I do hope you'll get along."

"I see," Harry muttered, feeling faint. His stomach churned with the urge to throw up over the man's polished shoes and run, but Harry fought it down, mustering as sincere a smile he could. "I'm very happy for you, mother." He swallowed heavily, and dared to meet Duke Thomas' eye. "For both of you," he added slowly, hands twitching at his sides. The duke's smile widened further.

"I promise to take care of your mother, Your Royal Highness," he said, eyes flicking to Lily and then back to Harry, hooding slightly. "I do hope we can get along; I had not been aware of James' lovely wife and child when I got the news of his death. Such a tragedy, truly. My deepest condolences."

Harry dipped his head in thanks, and wet his lips nervously, glancing at his mother. "I believe I should go and get changed. It was a pleasure meeting you, Duke Thomas," he said, just too quickly to be polite. "I will take my leave now."

"Please," Duke Thomas said, "Call me uncle- I shared a mother with James, after all."

Harry's eyes widened further and bile rose in his throat. He nodded and turned, rushing out of the room as fast as he could without being disrespectful. He made it to his room in no time at all, locking himself in the bathroom and pressing his body against the door as if to disappear against it, breath coming both too fast and yet proving not enough for his terrified mind as he gasped for oxygen, trembling. Disgust curled through his mind like a poison, and he thought he would vomit- how could his mother-?

Harry's mind twisted and turned, trying to grasp everything about it. He had not been aware that he'd had a half-uncle; that meant Merope, his grandmother, had birthed another- but with a different man. He'd have to look into it, Harry decided as he slowly slid down to sit on the floor, eyes wide with disbelief. He hadn't ever gotten into contact with Duke Thomas before, despite the fact that the man held the Duchy of Lancaster- a very high social standing indeed. His mother clearly did not know why either- so it must have been Harry's father's doing.

James had _always_ done things with a good reason.

The days passed quickly after that- far too quickly. Harry holed himself in his private study, going to the library whenever he needed to find a text he didn't have copied to his personal collection. The librarian, Miss Granger, was very helpful, always able to summon the books when he asked for them- so Harry spent not a second longer out of his room than he had to, always conveniently forgetting the time so he missed dinner as often as was socially acceptable- which was, sadly, not all that often; but under the guise of studying, his mother forgave him most times.

Duke Thomas - Tom, as his mother had started calling the man - wasn't around often, but he was _around_. Harry crossed paths with his half-uncle far more often than he would have liked; at least once every week. More often than not, once a day. One day, Harry, through an open door, even spotted his mother giggling behind her hand before leaning toward Tom- Harry had rushed away, disgusted, before he could witness any more.

Harry was forced out of his musings by a knock on the door. He turned to face it, and it creaked open, and the freckled face of Ginny Weasley stuck through, her eyes anxious. He gave her a small smile, trying to hide his pained expression.

"Your Royal Highness," she said, straightening up, "Her Majesty requests your presence at the dinner table."

Harry glanced down at his work and grimaced. "Tell her I'll be down in a moment."

Her Majesty is... _insistent_ ," Ginny said with a wince, "that you join her and His Grace immediately." She gave him an apologetic look, and Harry realised he couldn't worm his way out of it this time.

He pursed his lips and lowered his quill, casting a mild protective charm over his papers. "Very well," he said, standing. "I'll go."

Ginny sighed, relieved, and stood aside for Harry to pass before following him down to the dining hall. Harry entered, leaving her behind, and moved toward the table, announcing his presence with a light greeting of "Mother; Duke Thomas." He sat down in his usual place, glancing dully at the empty chair at the head of the table and to Harry's right. Tom sat next to Lily, who sat across from Harry, and Harry thought this was perfectly alright.

"Harry," his mother began pleasantly, "I know you've been busy, but seeing as the wedding is in just a few days, I thought it necessary for us to go over what's going to happen and all that. In truth, we should have done this earlier," she said, tipping her head, "but you won't have trouble remembering what needs to happen, will you?" She smiled at Harry, and Harry forced himself to smile back, firmly keeping his eyes away from the _unwelcome_ addition to the table.

"Of course not," he said, although he wasn't so sure in reality; he supposed he'd have to try his best. His mother beamed at him, and Harry's smile turned pained for just a split second before he composed himself. Lily went blissfully ignorant.

"Well," his mother began, looking at a sheet of parchment in front of her, "On the day itself, you will be dressed and brought to the hall before Tom and I. You're to sit on the bench on the right of the altar, where you will be joined by Tom once he enters. You needn't rise for him- only when the officiant says you should. It will be a very plain ceremony; I'll have no bridesmaids, and Tom will have no groomsmen. The ring-bearer will enter before me - it won't be you, I wouldn't wish you the stress," his mother joked, before continuing. "When I enter, you will rise, and stand closer; you'll be a witness of our vows, along with the officiant. You needn't do anything until the ceremony ends. You'll be escorted back here to change for the reception while we accept the congratulations. You’ll then be brought to the reception, and have free reign from there." His mother thought for a moment. "Well, almost. You'll have to stay and socialise until Tom and I leave."

Harry swallowed and nodded. "Alright," he said, "I can do that." Inwardly, he was panicking. It was really going to happen. Tom and Harry's mother were going to get married. He'd have to live under the same room as his half-uncle, and Tom would become _king_ . Harry's mother was queen consort- she wasn't fit for ruling the country, and it had been handled by his father's advisors until now; but, Harry had realised, Tom was a _very_ persuasive man; and the fact that his marriage to Lily had been approved meant that he was capable of being a king.

Harry's mother beamed and pushed the parchment away. On cue, food appeared on their plates, and they all wished each other a good meal before starting to eat.

And then, all of a sudden, it was the night before the wedding.

Harry couldn't sleep. He lay in bed, tossing and turning, thinking of his mother, not next door where she usually slept, but in ceremonial chambers, and Tom, sleeping in the same wing, but not in the same room- still closer to her than Harry was. It filled his mind with worry. Unable to lie still, Harry threw off his covers and moved out of bed, shivering as the cold air hit his bare legs, his thin night robe not nearly enough to keep him warm.

Nonetheless, Harry stood his ground, waiting a few moments in the quiet darkness before moving toward the balcony doors and opening them. The frigid air from outside billowed his sheer curtains and the silk of them glinted in the moonlight. Harry stepped out, gasping at the icy feeling that shot up his toes as he walked to the balustrade. The moon was full.

Harry leaned over the balustrade and peered down. The ground was hulled with fog, which obscured the stables and the fields. The trees of the forest peeked above the thick white mist, but that was it; he could see nothing else. Harry breathed in, held it, and then out, allowing the tension in his shoulders to seep out with the air. His breath fogged and flew off, toward the left. Harry's eyes followed it and saw a light coming from one of the windows; he recognised its position. Tom was awake, or he slept with the lights on.

Absently, Harry let his gaze linger on the light coming from the windows; from this angle, Tom couldn't see him if he tried, but Harry could watch the yellow light from Tom's room scatter against the fog. Before long, Harry's eyes drooped and he settled his arms sleepily on the marble of his balcony, resting his head on them. Just before he could nod off, the light in Tom's room switched off suddenly, leaving Harry blinking blearily at where it had been. Shaking his head, Harry stood and moved back inside, closing the balcony doors behind him before crawling under the covers and falling into a deep sleep.

The sudden light streaming into his eyes was enough to wake Harry, but the noises of servants hurrying about in his rooms certainly helped too. Harry sat up groggily, rubbing at his eyes despite his mother's words not to do so ringing in the back of his mind. Absently, Harry grabbed at his glasses on the bedside table and put them on, glancing around his room. Mrs Longbottom, the royal tailor, was standing at the edge of his bed, a very firm expression on her face.

"Good morning, Your Royal Highness," Mrs Longbottom said. "It's time to get up; the ceremony is in not _nearly_ enough hours from now, and we need to make sure you look immaculate."

Harry forced back a yawn and nodded sleepily at her. "Good morning, Mrs Longbottom.”

She nodded sternly. "The bath is prepared," she said, and Harry took the hint graciously, slipping out of the bed and toward his bathroom. Three quarters of an hour later he was as clean as he could be and with damp hair he stepped out of the bathroom in fresh undergarments. Mrs Longbottom fired a few spells at him, binding his hair up so it wouldn't ruin the clothes, and then levitated the clothes over to him, ordering the servants to assist Harry in putting it on. Another one and a half hours later, Harry was dressed and groomed into perfection; and they still had an hour to go until the ceremony.

They portkeyed to the location of the wedding, and Mrs Longbottom spent some time fixing up his hair, which had turned into one big mess once more during the transportation. Harry thanked her with sincerity and she waved him off. Harry went inside and his eyes widened in wonder at the beauty of it. The ceiling was filled with stars, bright enough to light the entire room. Wisteria and jasmine flowed down from the walls, spreading sweet yet fresh scents along the air.

Harry walked down the aisle, marvelling at the sights. Whoever had designed the hall, he had to give them his compliments, because it looked absolutely gorgeous; there were no people there yet, but Harry could only imagine what it would look like. It felt like he had been transported into a wonderland. Harry sat down on his designated bench, in the middle; he was the only surviving immediate family of both Lily and James; apart from Tom, but he was the one getting married too.

After a while, the guests started trickling in. Harry watched them, anxious, only soothed by the lovely scent in the air. The officiator was Albus Dumbledore, one of Harry's father's most trusted advisors. There was a very light tension to Dumbledore's shoulders, and he looked worried, the usual twinkle in his eyes gone, which soothed Harry to think he wasn't the only one worried about Tom.

Then it was time; Everyone was seated, and Tom came in alone, not preceded by anyone, and sat beside Harry while they waited for the ring bearer and Harry's mother.

Harry swallowed and decidedly didn't look at Tom, although he could see how his and Tom's knees were almost touching from the corner of his eyes. "Duke Thomas," he said, trying to gather some courage, and Tom looked at him, his dark gaze curious. "You had better treat my mother with the love and respect she deserves," Harry stated firmly, still staring straight ahead, not wanting to acknowledge the danger sitting beside him.

"Harry," said Tom, and Harry could hear the smile in his voice, "Did I not promise to take care of her?"

Harry clenched his jaw. "You did," he replied. "I just wished to make sure."

Clearly, this answer satisfied Tom, because he huffed out a low laugh and turned to look at the crowd, taking his intense gaze off Harry. "There we go," Tom murmured lowly, more to himself than anything, but the way he said it... Harry shivered as he turned to see the ringbearer moving down the path. The man moved to the side respectfully, and then the music started.

The large doors at the back opened, and in walked his mother, looking like something straight from the Fae realm. Her white dress was simple and made of velvet and framed her in a flattering way. She held a bouquet of myrtle in her hands and a simple veil flowed from the height of her ears over her red hair down to, from what Harry could tell, her mid-back. She beamed as she walked, slowly, down the aisle, and everyone stood- Harry a little later than the rest, too amazed by how lovely his mother looked.

After an eternity, she reached the altar, and Tom stepped away from Harry to join her, at once making Harry aware of simply how _close_ the man had been standing to him. Tom stood on the left side in front of the altar, the furthest from Harry and yet facing him, and Lily stood on the right in front of the altar. Before they continued, She turned and walked over to Harry, and they kissed each other on the cheek, full of affection. Harry's mother's eyes were damp with joyful tears.

"I love you, Harry; and don't you ever forget it," she said, smiling wide, and even with the lines pronouncing her age, she looked like the most beautiful woman Harry had ever seen. He gave her a wet smile and returned the sentiment, before letting her go. She turned back to Tom and took his hands, turning her back to Harry. Harry watched them with kind eyes, too happy that his mother felt happy to keep worrying about his half-uncle.

"We are here today," Albus began in a jovial tone, raising his hands, "to witness the union..."

Harry tuned him out, instead looking at the couple in front of him. Tom was quite a bit taller than Harry's mother, so he could see Tom's eyes over the top of her head with ease- and with growing _unease_ , realised the man was not looking at his wife and queen to be, but instead at Harry. Unbidden, Harry took a small, subconscious step backwards. Tom's eyes narrowed in amusement, and Harry broke out in a cold sweat.

 _Oh_ , he thought with a sinking feeling. _He's going to_ kill _me_.

It all moved quickly after that. They said their vows - Harry made an effort to remember what Tom and Lily said - and Harry turned his eyes away when they kissed, unable to stomach the sight. The coronation would be tomorrow, after the wedding night. Harry swallowed heavily and moved to behind his mother as she and Tom moved back down the aisle and toward the back doors.

As Lily and Tom stood to receive their congratulations from distant family and friends - the rest could congratulate them later at the reception - Harry was ushered to the back rooms to portkey back to the palace and change.

His cream-coloured, princely clothing was exchanged for a deep green silk robe which made his pale skin, inherited from his mother, look like it had been doused in moonlight. Mrs Longbottom gave him an appraising look and complimented his eyes, and Harry firmly ignored the dampness under the woman's eyes, thanking her instead. He was given his lightweight circlet, the ceremonial one placed back onto his jewelry stand, and it was fastened to his hair with magic. Harry reached up to poke at it but his hand was batted away by the magical measuring tape.

Harry was given a light lunch to eat before the reception and he finished it slowly, opening Shakespeare's _Hamlet_ to pass the time, careful not to get anything on his robes.

Harry grimaced. He'd have to _dance_. And he'd have to watch his mother dance with Tom. And he'd have to socialise. And dance. Gods, Harry hated dancing.

"Your Royal Highness," Mrs Longbottom said, "it's time." She held up the portkey locket once more by its string, and Harry took it, bracing himself for the inevitable pull behind his navel. A few seconds passed, and then the tug started.

They landed in a large hall, similar to the one the marriage had taken place in, but much less rectangular and more evenly-sided, filled with small round tables covered with decorative pieces of wisteria and jasmine, framing an open space where the dancing would take place. Again, they were one of the first there.

Slowly, the other guests trickled in, and Harry recognised many from his lessons on the nobles of this day and age; there were the Blacks, dressed to their namesake's standard, and the Malfoys, with their extremely blonde hair, and the Zhangs from East Asia, and the Delacours from France, and the Diggorys, and the Krums from Norway... Harry felt a little faint. There were _so many people._

Everyone settled into their places- little namecards indicated where people were supposed to sit, and Harry was relieved to see he was sitting at the same table as his mother, but also anxious because he'd be sitting near Tom. In fact, his half-uncle would be sitting on the right side of Lily while Harry sat on the left, just as they'd sat during dinner, but closer.

There were little hors d'oeuvres going around and the orchestra was playing quietly in the background while people chattered away in wait for the newlyweds' entrance. Harry picked up a small toast cracker from the waiter's silver platter, admiring the artful way it was put together with a small smear of cream cheese to hold it all together and some rocket on top before delicately nibbling at it.

"Your Royal Highness," a man greeted as he sat across from Harry with a kind smile. Harry looked at his namecard- this was Cedric Diggory, a noble from the south of Britain. Harry gave a polite smile in return; Diggory reminded him slightly of Tom, but there was a distinct difference in the form of Harry being quite certain, upon looking into Diggory's eyes, that the man across from him had no wish to harm him in any way. That was the detail that defined the whole picture, Harry thought idly, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waitress too and downing half of it in one go.

"I suppose it's stressful, seeing your mother get married, isn't it?" Diggory said empathetically. "I certainly remember what it was like when my father remarried." He grimaced dramatically, and Harry liked him instantly.

"You could say that," he murmured, casting another look around the room. It wouldn't be long until Tom and Harry's mother arrived and did their first dance, now. Harry sighed and then straightened, finishing off his salmon toast and champagne without much ado, feeling the light burn of the alcohol loosen the tension in his shoulders.

Harry wasn't about to betray his thoughts about Tom to Diggory, despite the latter man's likeability, and therefore pursed his lips against the words threatening to spill out. Luckily, he didn't have to keep quiet for long, because the doors at the front opened and through walked his mother and Tom, hand in hand; Harry's mother beaming, Tom wearing his usual smirk. The guests clapped and cheered lightly, and Harry followed suit, placing a pacifying smile on his face.

The music started up and Lily and Tom moved into position, waiting a beat before starting to dance a Viennese Waltz, twirling around the space provided gracefully.

They looked beautiful together, they did, Tom smiling down at Lily with lidded eyes and her grinning back up at him as they near-floated in their dance, but Harry had seen his mother and father dance together, and this felt very different to the perfect harmony from then.

Tom was too tall, Harry thought at first. His steps were too broad, leaving Harry's mother rushing to catch up, making her look much less graceful than she usually was. She didn't notice it, Harry thought, nor did most of the room, but as the music swelled, it faded away in Harry's ears, leaving only a vague background hum. His eyes were glued to the way Tom moved, unable to look away if he tried, fascinated by the way they _didn't match_. Like two wrong puzzle pieces, similarly keyed yet not exactly, forced together.

And then the song ended, and the sudden clapping forced Harry back to reality, taking in a sudden harsh breath as he blinked around him, the other guests coming back into focus. Harry reached up and fiddled with his circlet, worrying his lower lip with his teeth before forcing himself to stop. His mother laughed at something Tom said and they moved over to Harry's table, grabbing a flute of champagne each and clinking them together before they sat down.

"That was beautiful, mother," Harry complimented her quietly, earnest in his words. "I'm very happy for you," he added, figuring the lie would go lost in the truths. "You look wonderful."

"Thank you, Harry," his mother said, glancing at Tom with a small, secretive smile. Harry forced himself to stay relaxed, even as he looked Tom in the eyes and repeated his compliments to him.

"Yes," said Tom, eyes not leaving Harry's once, "I am a very lucky man indeed."

"Harry," said his mother with a kind smile, "why don't you go and dance? Merlin knows you need to talk to people more, you can't stay in your study for the rest of your life," she joked, and Harry was torn between relief that she was back to normal and wanting to cry that the new normal was Tom. He settled for nodding and rising from the table, moving over to the dance floor, looking around for anyone he could dance with.

His eye landed on Princess Zhang, and he approached her with an easy smile, inclining his head to her. "Miss Zhang," he said, and she curtsied with a smile, "may I have this dance?"

"You may," she replied graciously, and they moved to the dance floor, stepping easily into the starting dance. She was a good enough dancer, if a bit on the short side - not that Harry would dare say it to her face - and when the dance ended, they parted ways peacefully, the princess moving back to her father's side while Harry moved on to another dance partner - preferably one he could talk to, unlike the near-oppressive silence that had reigned his and Zhang's dance. It took a moment, but then Bellatrix Black swayed into Harry's line of sight, clearly set upon dancing with him. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and bowed shallowly to her. She curtsied, then took his hand and they lapsed into dance without one word of request.

"So," Bella drawled, never having been one for upholding social etiquette even from a young age. "the queen consort and Duke Thomas."

"Yes," Harry said stiffly, trying to match her unpredictable movements without stumbling.

"So quickly, too," Bella mused, shooting a sly look at Harry. "And you think so too, don't you? Barely two months..."

Harry gritted his teeth. "Careful, Bella," he said, "your words might cost you your tongue one day."

She threw her head back and laughed, the sound like little bells. Harry wondered how such a beautiful woman could have a personality like rotten fruit. "Is that a threat, ickle bickle prince Potter?" she cooed. Harry said nothing, firmly looking away, and she suddenly turned serious. "Duke Thomas is a powerful man," she hummed in a low tone. "I've been acquainted with him for quite some time, and he's always gotten what he wants."

Ice doused Harry's spine. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, tense.

"It means," said Bella, "exactly what I said. Duke Thomas always gets what he wants." She looked at him, her eyes oddly serious. "It'll do you no good to try to stand in the way of that; trust me."

"Alright, Bella, I think you've intimidated His Royal Highness quite enough," a familiar voice said. Harry turned, relieved to see Sirius Black, his godfather, standing there with an easy smile on his face. "Care to dance with me, Harry?" he asked, and Harry nodded gratefully, letting go of Bella to dance with Sirius instead. Since Sirius had asked, he led the dance, allowing Harry to easily fall into step with him.

"Happy days, aren't they?" Sirius asked, casting a meaningful look at Harry's mother. Harry smiled grimly and Sirius let out a laugh. "Your mother must be in the clouds. Handsome fellow, that duke," Sirius mused. Harry scowled at Sirius, swatting him on the shoulder. Sirius laughed. "Sorry, sorry," he said, "You must have heard Lily say enough of such things already."

"Quite," Harry grumbled. "Then again, she did the same when father was still alive, so it's not so different." At the mention of Harry's father, Sirius' face fell, and Harry immediately felt guilty. It had hit Sirius just as hard as it had affected Harry and his mother.

"Yes," Sirius murmured, "She did, didn't she?" he shook his head lightly and smiled weakly. "Oh well, I'm glad she's happy now. It was horrible to see her so devastated ever since James fell ill. It's wonderful that she's recovered well; he must be taking very good care of her."

"Yes," Harry agreed for the sake of agreeing. "I'll make sure he keeps treating her right, I promise." He swallowed heavily and looked towards his mother, finding that Tom was looking at him with his perpetually amused expression. Tom leaned over to talk to Harry's mother, and her eyes lit up as she nodded, saying something back. After a beat, Tom stood up, and Harry assumed they'd dance again, but his mother stayed seated, instead beginning a conversation with the other Diggory. Tom moved around the table with quick, elegant strides and onto the dance floor, towards, Harry realised with sinking horror, _him_.

Before Harry could comprehend what was happening, Sirius had slipped them - presumably in ignorance, given the lack of his usual playful expression whenever he did something to undermine someone else - through the dancing crowd again, away from Tom. The dance ended, and Harry was tapped on the shoulder by Cedric Diggory. The man asked him to dance, and Harry accepted before he remembered that _wait, wasn't Tom looking for him_ \- but Diggory had already swept them into an energetic waltz, leaving Sirius behind. Diggory fit nicely to Harry's pace, Harry thought, although his grip was too gentle, so Harry thought his hands would slip off Diggory's at any time and he'd go spinning off into the onlookers behind them. Luckily, it was a minute waltz, so it was over before Harry could really accidentally fall out of Diggory's arms and ruin an innocent bystander's night.

Diggory made to propose another dance, but a sudden strong grip on Harry's shoulder and a warmth against his back made Harry turn to look who dared to touch him without asking, only to come face to face with Tom, his half-uncle's usual smirk suspiciously absent for half a second before it reappeared again.

Harry barely had the time to nod before Tom pulled him closer and into a dance. It was fast, and firm, and Harry could do very little but melt into the movements, somehow able to match Tom perfectly. Distantly, he imagined the sight they must make- strong and steady, in perfect harmony. Sort of like how his mother and father had looked, but less playful. More... Harry didn't quite know.

"I am glad to be here, Harry," Tom said, and Harry started at the sound of his voice, looking the man in the eyes. Harry's heart skipped a beat, swept away by the honesty in Tom's gaze. "It's an honour to know you and your mother, and I do hope we can get along," Tom continued. Harry felt speechless. What was this?

They turned around, again and again, until Harry was so dizzy his eyes couldn't stay on anything but Tom's figure, his face, his eyes. The music was, again, just a background hum. Harry felt like he was falling into Tom's eyes as they danced, half-convinced he'd stepped into a fairy ring and would be made to dance forever, and ever, and ever…

Harry couldn't tell if there were people around him anymore. The background had faded to darkness, the only things illuminated being Tom and himself. It was calming just as much as it was absolutely terrifying.

"Tom," Harry started, just to break the tension building between them, but he had nothing to say, not really, so he bit his lip and averted his eyes, laying them on Tom's neatly pressed collar.

"Yes?" Tom replied, looking irritatingly composed even after upholding such a strong pace for- how long had it been now? They were on a different dance, and it was slower, more deliberate waltz, but it had felt as if their pace hadn't changed a thing. Slowly, the outside world came back into focus.

"Ah, sorry," Harry mumbled, trying to distance himself, suddenly keenly aware of exactly why he wished to avoid the man. "I meant, um, Duke Thomas. I... We should go back to mother, I'm sure she'd like your company, and dinner will be served soon..."

Tom's eyes bled impossibly darker. "There's still some time left. I'd like to get to know you, Harry."

"I," Harry began, eyes darting around. "The second dance has almost ended. It's inappropriate." A third dance would imply intent to marry. At Tom's wedding to Harry's mother. It would be a _grave_ insult. "Mother did say I need to socialise more, and the Malfoys have come all this way..." He tried to subtly remove himself from Tom, but the man held on tightly. For a few seconds, they stood in the quiet between dances, an odd tension to Tom's shoulders and Harry feeling like a trapped animal. Then Tom let go just as the first note of the third dance began, and Harry stepped back quickly, heart pounding in his chest. He turned and rushed away, heading for the group of striking blondes interacting with a plump man in an olive green suit.


	2. A Strange Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's here. Enjoy, food is plenty. Quite literally. I realised through this fic that my style includes many, _many_ descriptive dinner scenes. Chapter three will be up when chapter four is done :^)
> 
> Again, tell me if I'm missing tags- especially those indicating abusive relationships, or whatever you wish to call the gorgeous, harmful mess that Tom and Harry share. I'm glad many of you seem to be enjoying this, though! I was, at first, rather worried this particular fic would fade into obscurity, but it appears it has not, and that's very comforting. 

"Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy, Heir Malfoy," Harry said, trying to compose his face into something less  _ cornered _ . He rolled his shoulders and reached up to touch his circlet absently. They turned to him and Lady Malfoy curtsied while the others bowed. "I hope you're enjoying the party? My mother was terribly excited for it all, and I can't blame her." He mustered an easy smile and they nodded.

"Yes," said Lady Malfoy as the man in the olive suit scurried away, "It truly has been done wonderfully. Everything is stunning, and the scents are very well created. Do you know who designed it? I may request their services for our annual Yule ball, if possible."

"I don't know," Harry said, laughing a little. "I'll have to ask my mother- I'm sure she wouldn't mind sharing her secrets."

"Oh," said Lady Malfoy, clearly flattered, "You really needn't do that on my behalf, Your Royal Highness. I'm sure you have more pressing matters."

"It's perfectly alright," Harry said smoothly, tension falling from his shoulders as the events from before moved to the background. "I was curious, too, so I'll ask regardless."

"Thank you, then," she said, and Harry nodded pleasantly, turning to the other Malfoys.

"How have you been enjoying the celebrations, Heir Malfoy?" Harry said, smiling at the younger boy. Heir Malfoy was set to turn fifteen in the summer, two months before Harry would turn seventeen, and the boy was already as insufferable as his father; maybe even worse. Still Harry looked upon him fondly, as Draco Malfoy was much like the younger, spoiled brother he'd never had.

"It's all very pretty," said the boy, managing to sound haughty even as his voice still cracked here and there from his ongoing puberty. Harry couldn't stop the fondness from seeping into his expression if he wanted to. "I eagerly await the dinner planned- it must be spectacular, given all that's been done so far."

"I'm sure it will," said Harry kindly.

"I think everything here is marvelous," Lord Malfoy said. "Everything's very artfully done; do give the designer my compliments, should you find them."

"I will make sure to," Harry promised. "How has life treated you three lately? Kindly, I'd hope."

"Oh, we're faring quite well," Lady Malfoy said. "Of course, we've all felt the loss of King James, both emotionally and financially, but we've recovered quite well, and we trust Duke Thomas to be a righteous and fair king, able to bring our country back into the prosperity it had before your father's illness got the best of him. Our deepest condolences for your loss, once again; I know we've said it before, but we truly do miss him."

Harry's smile faltered slightly as sadness burst in his chest. "I think everyone does," he said softly. Lady Malfoy gave him a kind look.

The Malfoys all nodded. Harry excused himself after a moment to head over to his mother, who was conversing with the Patils, Tom nowhere to be seen. It was time to ask who the designer of the wedding was, Harry decided, smiling as he looked around once more. The ceiling was covered in tiny blinking lights, creating a soft, starry-skied atmosphere. People were still dancing in the middle of the room, but it'd all died down a little by now, feet getting tired and stomachs empty.

"Mother," Harry said, announcing his presence. "Heiresses Patil, Lord Patil." He nodded at them. "I hope you won't mind me inquiring after the designer of the celebration?" he asked his mother. "Everything looks absolutely beautiful; the Malfoys were considering asking them to design the next Malfoy Yule ball."

"Oh, not at all, Harry," his mother said, leaning over to plant a kiss on Harry's cheek. He smiled at her, expression soft. "I asked Madame Zabini to design the halls and pick decorations, and I was deeply impressed by it all, too. Of course, she showed me a miniature version of it before, but there's nothing quite like seeing it in person on the big day."

"Oh, wow," Harry said, blinking. "You got her on such short notice?"

"I admit," his mother said with a slight wince, "It did take some funds to convince her to do it, despite my status. But it's nothing we can't miss," she said, waving her hand. "Anyway, I was just talking about these two lovely ladies' dresses! Aren't they gorgeous?" The Patil heiresses were wearing traditional Indian clothing, and Harry had to admit, it did look very nice, even with the colours adjusted to match the theme of the celebrations. Harry nodded earnestly, voicing his praises, and the heiresses giggled behind their hands. Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Oh," his mother said all of a sudden, eyes wide. "Dinner's about to be served- I completely forgot the time. Come on, let's get to our tables, now."

If Harry weren't a prince, he would have sighed in relief - but he had manners to uphold, so he didn't, instead following his mother back to their table and sitting down, smoothing out the minimal creases in his robes. As soon as everyone was seated, the food appeared before them, and everyone waited for Lily to start eating before they did. She wished everyone a good meal and then started eating, and the sound of cutlery clinking against plates and polite chatter soon followed.

The first course was a lovely lentil soup which tasted thick on Harry's tongue in the best way. He wondered briefly if it was made by human or elven hands, but soon decided that he didn't care all that much. He asked his mother who chose the menu, and she said it was both her and Madam Zabini that chose; but she left it mostly to Madam Zabini, only interfering when it conflicted with her personal tastes or allergies provided by the guests.

The main course was a wonderful  _ tagliatelle al pesto _ which was lovely and light compared to the soup. Harry ate it quickly, hungry after a day of very little to eat. While he waited for everyone else to finish so dessert could be served, he made small talk with Diggory, and thankfully, the man indulged graciously. Tom talked quietly with Harry's mother, secretive smiles shared between them. Overall, the mood was lovely, ignoring the odd behaviour Tom had exhibited earlier.

"You're studying at Hogwarts, aren't you, Your Royal Highness?" Diggory asked politely. "May I inquire what you're the most interested in?"

"Defense, I think," Harry said after some thought, resting his hands on the table delicately. "I do like potions too, though, and with Mr Snape's help I'm somewhat decent at it. I suppose I like the hands-on subjects the most."

Diggory nodded. "No flying?" he asked, looking genuinely curious. Harry shook his head with a smile.

"No, it's too dangerous for me to partake. Too many accidents happen; I do fly at home, though," Harry added. "I enjoy it, but I enjoy my life more," he joked.

"Understandable," Diggory said, straightening in his chair a little with a smile. Harry smiled back. "I did enjoy our dance earlier," Diggory said. "Would you mind me requesting another, once dinner has ended?"

Harry smiled. "I don't mind," he said, glancing at his mother. She was smiling at him, yet next to her, Tom stared at Harry, a warm smile on his face but eyes cold. Harry swallowed heavily. "Just one, though," he added, looking back at Diggory. "I should get to bed early tonight, for tomorrow." At that, the intensity of Tom's eyes softened marginally, no longer boring into the side of Harry's head.

"I think we should too," Lily said conspiratorially, giggling behind her hand when Harry pulled a face. "I'm sorry honey," she laughed, "I really couldn't resist."

"I don't want to hear about your  _ nightly activities _ ," Harry grumbled, and blinked when he heard the unfamiliar sound of someone else laughing. His eyes snapped to the source and he saw Tom, a grin on his face, a low rumbling chuckle rolling across the space between them.

Harry turned slightly red, grateful that the low light was hiding it. Tom had a very pleasant laugh, and a dark, secret part of Harry wished he'd heard it earlier.

Thankfully, he was distracted from that train of thought by the arrival of dessert; and Harry's mouth watered at the sight of a beautiful treacle tart sitting in front of him. He picked up his cutlery and cut off a piece, putting it into his mouth and letting the soft flavour melt on his tongue, clogging his senses with sweetness. He let out a low sound of appreciation.

Harry's mother had a transparent pudding that glittered with edible gold foil pieces worked through the jelly, surrounding an - Harry assumed - edible soft pink lily. Tom had the same, but in the centre of his was a coral-coloured rose. Diggory had a fresh out of the oven chocolate fudge cake with what seemed to be white chocolate sauce draped over it. It all looked spectacular.

It wasn't long before everyone was finished and the food was cleared once more, and Diggory offered his hand to Harry, which Harry took before they retreated to the dance floor once more. The dance was short and sweet, and Harry really was starting to feel tired, so he excused himself and found Mrs Longbottom, requesting to be brought back to his rooms.

A quick bath and a change of clothes later, Harry crawled into his bed, placing his glasses on the bedside table. The covers were comfortably cool and warmed quickly against his skin, and it didn't take long at all for Harry to fall into a deep sleep.

When Harry awoke, the atmosphere was filled with tension, magic so thick in the air that Harry could almost taste it.

Already, the servants were rushing around him, preparing a bath, taking out his medals to pin to his black uniform's breast and polishing them firmly one last time. Mrs Longbottom was there, barking orders and staring at him with such a foul, stressed look that Harry was conflicted between feeling annoyed and pitying her. With effort, he pushed himself out of his plush bed and into the waiting arms of a servant, who immediately began to disrobe him and guide him to the bathroom to be thoroughly washed.

He was ushered back into his room, skin still smarting from the rather aggressive cleaning he'd received. He sent a mild glare at one of the maids until she caved and sent healing and numbing spells at his reddening arms and chest. He was allowed a quick breakfast before the plates were whisked away and Mrs Longbottom barked for him to stand so he could get dressed. Several dozen minutes later, Harry's hair was pulled into something that vaguely resembled order, his ceremonial circlet once again placed on his head. Powder was dabbed onto Harry's face and he wrinkled his nose, resisting the urge to sneeze. In return for his efforts, the measuring tape smacked him across the shoulder.

The medals were pinned onto his chest and epaulettes were fastened to his shoulders, the little gold strings hanging from them groomed to perfection. Harry started to become fidgety after an hour of dressing had passed; he had never been any good at standing still.

Finally, _finally_ , the torment let up and the servants stepped away to allow Mrs Longbottom to inspect Harry's appearance. She stepped around him like a prowling, nasty old cat, and after far too many long seconds, nodded in approval.

"We'll head there by carriage," Mrs Longbottom said sternly, "as is the traditional way. It's not far; a ten minute flight. I'll accompany you along with two guards; They are there to ensure your safety, I am there to ensure you don't ruin any part of your outfit. Today is an _important day_ , Your Royal Highness, and you must remember that."

"It's hard to forget, with how thick magic is today," Harry grumbled, shivering a little as the ghostly sensation of it crawled across his skin. To his surprise, Mrs Longbottom gave him an odd look. Could she not feel it?

They left Harry's rooms shortly after and moved in a quiet procession down the hall toward the entrance of the palace, where a carriage with thestrals - Harry squirmed in discomfort, being able to see them now after witnessing his father's death - was waiting, the skeleton-like beasts flexing their leathery wings in the warming morning air.

Harry climbed into the carriage without a sound, averting his eyes from the windows at the front, unable to bear the reminder of what he'd lost. Instead, he decided to focus on Mrs Longbottom as she quickly went over where he'd sit and how he was supposed to act, which all boiled down to _stay to Tom's left and you'll be fine._

Of course, Harry didn't think this was fine at all. He didn't like the man whatsoever; to be at his left throughout the entire two-hour ceremony seemed like a paranoid man's nightmare - not that Harry was paranoid. Or at least, he was quite sure he wasn't.

When they landed at last, they arrived in a great hall brimming with more ancient magic and wards than Hogwarts. Again, Harry felt the oppressive weight of magic around him, but nobody else seemed bothered; not even his mother. Was Harry imagining it? Was everyone else used to the sensation, or something? How often did this even happen?

Harry shook his head lightly and allowed Mrs Longbottom to dust off his clothing and cast a polishing spell at each of his buttons, badges and Merlin-knew-what else. Harry fidgeted with the seam of his sleeve, tongue darting out to wet his lips as the magic around him waxed and waned as if it were breathing. Harry met his mother and they smiled at each other, his mother in the same robe she'd worn for James' coronation, tailored to suit her now slightly different build. She looked stunning as always, and Harry leaned over to kiss her on the cheek and tell her that, but she shook her head with mirth in her eyes.

"Harry, darling, have you seen yourself? I bet everyone attending will fall over themselves at the sight of you."

Harry pulled a face of distaste and shook his head with a small chuckle. They moved to where they were supposed to stand when Tom would enter the room, and everyone waited with bated breath. The Archbishop said a few words of welcome, and everyone stood to receive Tom just before the doors at the back opened and the procession streamed in.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. Tom looked... Well, there was no right word for it except _regal_. He didn't look like someone about to be crowned king, he looked like someone who had been born to fill the role. His cloak trailed along several yards behind him, a beautiful dark red velvet that flashed in the light of the chandeliers and sunlight streaming in through the many windows. His uniform was a dark royal blue silk and the sash that ran diagonally over his chest was a bright vermillion, creating a lovely contrast. Silver medals flashed on Tom's chest and the thick gold rope that fastened the royal cloak was folded elaborately.

A heavy chain embedded with large emeralds was draped across his wide shoulders, over the royal cloak, and his trousers were stark white and tucked into leather boots that reached to above Tom's knee. Overall, Tom looked fantastic, and Harry could see his mother swooning from the corner of his eye.

Harry joined Tom's left as they moved forward, leaving an appropriate amount of distance between himself and his half-uncle. His mother, it seemed, had none of the same qualms, sidling closer to Tom and smiling up at him. Together they ascended the stairs and passed the throne, Tom heading for the faldstool while Harry and Lily moved to the left and right of it respectively, waiting to the side as Tom sent a private prayer to Lady Magic.

After a few moments, Tom rose and nodded at the altar, before turning and moving toward the ceremonial chair. Harry moved to the left of the chair again, and his mother to Tom's right. As soon as they were settled into place, the Book of Law, ceremonial dagger and ceremonial chalice were brought to the altar and set upon it. Soon after followed the people holding the regalia and those, too, were placed upon the altar. Then the Archbishop began to speak.

"Sirs, I here present unto you King Thomas, your undoubted King: wherefore all you who are come this day to do your homage and service, are you willing to do the same?"

At once, as though compelled, the entire hall shouted aloud, " _Magic praise King Thomas_!" and Harry couldn't stop himself from doing the same thing if he wished to, halfway intoxicated by the mix of ancient magic and the thick, viscous magic that felt like it was trying to seep into his very pores. Trumpets sounded, and the people settled down, still standing.

After a moment, the Archbishop spoke again.

"Sir," he said gravely, "is Your Majesty willing to take the oath?"

"I am willing."

The sound of Tom's smooth voice cut through the air like a knife through butter, and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at the sultry undertone it harboured; like Tom was... _aroused_.

"Will you solemnly promise to govern the peoples of the United Kingdom of Great Britain according to their laws and customs?" the Archbishop continued, and there again came that voice, sounding impossibly deeper;

"I solemnly promise to do so."

Again, the Archbishop spoke. "Will you to your power cause law and justice, in mercy, to be executed in all your judgements?"

Tom practically sounded like he was purring. "I will."

"Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the Sanctity of Magic and Honour Lady Magic herself? Will you to the utmost of your power maintain in the United Kingdom the balance between Light and Dark Magic equally? And will you maintain and preserve inviolably the knowledge of all Magic equally?"

"All this I promise to do."

Then Tom arose, and with the magic in the air, his towering height was more imposing than ever. Tom strode to the altar, the Sword of State carried in front of him, and he lay his right hand on the Book of Law, before swearing the first part of the Oath, kneeling upon the steps.

"The things which I have here before promised, I will perform, and keep. So help me Magic."

For the second part of the Oath, Tom leaned down and touched his lips to the book in such an intimate gesture that Harry flushed from where he stood, feeling as if he were looking at something very, extremely private. Tom straightened and signed the Oath with a flourish.

Tom stood, then, and moved closer to the altar, standing over it with his head high and his hands folded out like some sick recreation of a martyr. Harry was captivated by the sight, unable to tear his eyes away, going breathless at the brief flash of a smug smirk across Tom's face. The Archbishop approached him and dipped his hands into the small jar of oak oil, placing his fingers on Tom's bare palms, then on his clothed chest, and then his head, all the while muttering a ritual chant Harry didn't know.

When the Archbishop was done, he moved back and someone else stepped forward to hand Tom the ceremonial dagger. In two quick, practiced movements, Tom parted the skin on his palms and allowed the blood to mix with the oil, flowing down his fingers and into the chalice below them, without so much as a flinch. After a few moments, someone came forward to cast a healing spell on Tom's hands, and another began to chant over the chalice, light and dark congealing into a whirlwind of light and colours above the chalice's contents before sinking, slowly, into the blood-filled cup.

Harry couldn't tear his eyes away when Tom lifted the cup at last and drank like a parched man, confirming his oath in the third and final way, a rush of binding magic filling the room and ruffling clothes and hair. Nobody dared make a sound.

Tom moved back to the chair where Harry and his mother were still standing and sat down with a straight back, and the Archbishop picked up the crown, its bejeweled sides glittering in the light, and raised it to the heavens for a moment before lowering it slightly and moving over to Tom, placing it reverently on his head in a moment filled with such raw _power_ Harry felt he would never forget it. From where he stood, he swore Tom's eyes flashed red the moment the crown rested upon his head, but forced the idea back; it was impossible, anyways.

Tom rose from his chair slowly and deliberately, bowing his head just right that the light scattered from within the diamonds into millions of tiny rainbows across the hall, blinding. He was escorted to the throne and lowered gently into it, and when he was settled, Tom sat back, raising his chin and staring down at everyone before him with a look in his eyes that made Harry want to fall to his knees and _beg_.

The Archbishop stood before Tom nervously and opened his mouth to speak for the last time.

"Stand firm, and hold fast from henceforth the seat and state of royal and imperial dignity, which is this day delivered unto you, in the Name and by the Authority of Magic, and by the hands of us. Establish your Throne in righteousness, that it may stand fast for evermore."

The moment his voice ceased, the drums slammed and the trumpets sounded and a wave of magic swept the room, so strong that Harry thought he might faint; and this time he wasn't the only one. From his mouth ripped a cry, and then another, and his voice formed without thought, chanting-

" _ Magic praise King Thomas! Magic praise King Thomas! May the King live forever! _ "

At last, it was over, and Harry's voice felt hoarse, his eyes watering from the dryness in his mouth and nose as Tom rose again and the procession began, streaming back out. Harry felt his legs follow alongside his mother, his eyes glued to the majestic form of his half-uncle, retreating slowly, deliberately out of the hall before him. The man didn't glance back once- then again, he wasn't allowed to; not until they were back at the palace.

Outside, perhaps thousands of civilians were waiting, cheering upon seeing Tom exit the building in his royal attire. And Tom lifted his right hand, gloved in black silk, and waved to them as they cheered and screamed and cried and fainted. Harry didn't realise how close he was standing to Tom until their hands brushed - yet he couldn't bring himself to move away, magnetised.

They moved down the carpeted steps and toward the large, ornate open carriage at the end of the walkway provided by magical barriers between the newly crowned king and crowd which served both as crowd control and to ward off any attempted attacks. The carriage was made of gold and drawn by large abraxans, their manes tossing in the warm afternoon air. Tom ascended the steps into the carriage first, his cloak folding neatly on the bench beside him through magic. Then Lily followed, and at last Harry, and the gold entrance door was shut securely, privacy wards shooting up into action around them.

Tom continued waving to the crowd as the carriage began to move, and Harry and his mother did the same, sending blinding smiles at the people around them.

"So," began his mother, smiling at Tom. "How does it feel to be king?"

"It's odd," Tom said, his voice still thicker and deeper than usual. "It's very new, the amount of power this grants me."

Harry's mother nodded sympathetically. "James," she swallowed, "said so too. It'll get better in a few days as you get used to it."

Harry reached over to rest his hand atop hers, and she turned her palm up, curling her fingers around Harry's as she sent him a small smile before returning her attention to the crowd. People were cheering and clapping along the sides of the road as the carriage passed, reporters walking along the outer edges of the many people present to follow Tom's path.

Harry leaned slightly over the edge of the carriage to wiggle his fingers playfully at a small child who was staring at the entire thing from the front lines with big eyes, the seam of his robes clutched in his hand. Harry's smile widened as the little boy raised a hand to return the wave and he righted, moving his eyes over the crowd once more.

As he turned to face Tom again, he saw something almost _soft_ flash across the man's face, but it was gone before Harry could really think about it. The path back to the palace wasn't long by any means, but they did spend an hour or so waving at the crowds to either side of the carriage and making idle chatter with one another to pass the time. Still that heavy magic was draped across Harry's skin, even within the wards, and after some time, it started poking at him, prodding at his own magic as if bored.

The first time it happened, Harry froze while he was waving at a group of ladies, the smile dying from his eyes yet remaining on his face as confusion overtook him. What in Merlin's name was happening?

The magic drew back slightly upon his reaction, waiting a few minutes while Harry recovered and started waving again before doing it _again_ , the strings of it teasing out Harry's own power, and Harry felt his own magic dancing around on his skin before he could stop himself. Quickly, he snapped his magic back into control, smile tightening.

Harry's mother gave him a confused look, clearly having sensed the magical shift of Harry's core, but not whatever it was that was drawing it out. Harry wished he were able glare at the magic, or its source, so he could out the building frustration, but he couldn't just go and glower at thin air in the middle of a very public event. Luckily they were close to the palace now, the building just around the upcoming corner. They would wave at everyone one last time before heading inside and getting changed into non-ceremonial things, and the entire day would be over. Harry was already looking forward to collapsing face-down in his bed.

Finally the palace came into view, and the carriage rolled to a slow halt in front of the carpeted entrance. A man came forward to unlatch the little door, and the privacy wards fell as it swung open. The magic blanketing Harry retreated, mercifully, as he exited the carriage, followed closely by his mother and finally Tom. Harry and his mother waited up on the steps for Tom to join them, Harry once again at Tom's left and Lily at his right. Tom turned, his cloak's trail fanned out beautifully behind him, and they waved for the last time that day at the crowds before heading inside.

As soon as they were inside and the doors closed, Tom's royal cloak was unfasted and taken away for safekeeping, as were the crown jewels. Tom removed his gloves again and pulled Harry's mother into a brief kiss before announcing to her and Harry that he was going to change and heading up the stairs with quick strides, several servants rushing to follow behind him.

Harry kissed his mother on the cheek once more, trying not to think about her and Tom's intimacy, and excused himself in a similar manner, also flanked by several servants as he headed to his own rooms. Once inside, he was undressed without much ado and the bath was prepared for him, and then he was left to his own devices. Harry sank into the water, letting it cover his mouth and nose and warm his chilled skin. He felt relieved now that the oppressive magic had left, and allowed himself to float in the water of his bath for a few moments, the tension seeping out of his muscles and finally letting him relax.

After a long time of simply lying there and soaking, Harry washed himself lightly and got out of the bath, wrapping himself in a soft, thick bathrobe stitched with gentle warming and drying runes, and moved back into his bedroom, plopping down on the bed. It was too early to sleep yet, so Harry tucked his chin against his neck, cheeks pressed into the soft fabric of the bathrobe's hood and just sat there for a moment, basking in the warmth like a reptile.

Harry felt his eyes slip closed as he relaxed into the warmth surrounding him, so pleasant and unobtrusive compared to the harsh, prodding heat of that foreign magic. It was still absent, so Harry rolled onto his side and plucked his copy of _Hamlet_ from his bedside table, opening it on the bookmark and starting to read once more.

The similarities between Harry's and Hamlet's situation were not lost on him; both with an uncle on the throne, a recently deceased father and a remarried mother to said uncle. Yet, Harry thought, James had not returned as a ghost, unfulfilled with his life. Harry knew his father had been well aware of his end, and the man had come to peace with it some time before he passed.

Possibly, Harry mused idly, turning the page, Tom would plot to kill him as Claudius had Hamlet; it was plausible. There was something strangely intense about the man; something Harry couldn't quite place. Harry suspected murderous intentions, but it could be something else instead.

Harry realised he'd been flipping pages without reading them and focused on the words once more on the page he'd turned to- he'd read the book before several times, so he had no trouble filling in what had happened in his mind. To his frustration, he found himself bored with the text, and replaced his bookmark inside the page, placing it once more on his nightstand and dropping his head on his pillow with a soft groan.

He lay there for some time, trying to alleviate the light headache fluttering through his mind through sheer willpower, but soon gave up and slipped out of his bed once more, toward his closet to pull on underwear. He shed his bathrobe and dressed lightly - his mother had always been adamant that Harry dress himself if there was no event planned for that time, as a way to promote independence, and had forbidden the servants from doing it for him as much as she could, much to Harry's father's amusement.

Therefore Harry stood in a neat shirt and slacks a few minutes later, pushing his damp hair back into something manageable across his skull, sighing when it refused to cooperate, as usual; at least he looked _somewhat_ handsome like this.

He glanced at the clock, not bothering with a _tempus_ , and raised his brows when he realised it was nearing half past four in the afternoon. Dinner would be served in one and a half hours, and Harry had to occupy himself until then, which he could do. His mouth twisted into a grimace as he thought of Tom sitting at the head of the table, no longer on Harry's mother's right. It felt horrible to think of the man slowly taking up all the space his father had, before, and Harry felt his mood souring quickly, his dislike for Tom and the man's strange, contradictory actions forefront in his mind.

Harry exited his rooms with quick strides, heading down to the kitchens through the hidden servants' stairwells, which he was technically not allowed to take, but nobody except Augusta Longbottom ever reprimanded him for it. He thought it was time to visit Mrs Weasley again; it had been far too long since he'd thanked her for her cooking.

The door to the kitchens was open, and so was the door from it to the back of the palace where the gardens were, causing a slight draft to send lovely smells Harry's way as he approached. He smiled at a few newer servants, fondly amused when they flushed and babbled and scattered like impeccably groomed mice. He reached the door and peeked his head through, eyes wide and blinking innocently at the scene inside.

"Mrs Weasley," he greeted, a smile growing on his face when he spotted her, relieved that there was nobody about to rush out of the kitchens with a large, full tray in hand, because he didn't think he'd be able to live with himself if he caused a collision and waste all their hard work. He slipped inside the kitchens, pressing himself against the wall to keep out of the way.

Mrs Weasley looked up with surprise etched into her features, before recognition took over and she beamed. "Your Royal Highness!" she said jovially, dipping into a slight, hurried curtsy before she returned her wand to her cooking. "Please excuse me for not being able to greet you properly, but dinner is in preparation, so I'll have to keep an eye on it at all times. Speaking of time, it's been quite a while since I've last seen you! Are you coping well? Eating enough? I hope King Thomas does treat you and your mother well, he seems like an awfully well-mannered man..." she prattled on, and even though Harry's expression twitched a little at the man's name, he allowed her to talk, the soothing sounds of her and the kitchen lulling him into a soft sense of calm.

Harry replied to a few of her questions, assuring her a little of his continued health, but mostly let her do the speaking, instead humming politely and nodding along from his place where he rested with his back against the wall beside the door. Harry's mind had drifted off onto other matters after some time, so when a hand, increasingly familiar, clamped down on his shoulder with an iron grip, Harry jumped halfway into the air, turning to lift his wand at the person who dared touch him so.

"My apologies, Harry," Tom said, smirking down at him, slowly removing his hand from Harry's shoulder. "I didn't realise you had not noticed me approach." His Adam's apple moved with the rolling tones of his deceptively soft voice against the tip of Harry's wand, and Harry could feel the vibrations all the way in his chest. "That being said, I do commend you for your excellent reaction time; your tutors have taught you well, it seems."

Harry pursed his lips stiffly and lowered his wand, slipping it back into its holster with a flick of his wrist. He bit his tongue, refusing to speak, only nodding.

"Come," Tom said, eyes sweeping over the staff in the kitchens, who had all stopped in their tracks to bow low to him. Even in more casual clothing, Tom still looked like the king he had been crowned as earlier that day; and while it wasn't surprising he was being treated as such, it still sent knots into Harry's stomach, his throat drying unpleasantly. "I wished to discuss something with you; privately. It's almost dinnertime, so I thought we could talk while heading to the dining room together."

Harry nodded, still not saying a word, and ducked his head as he moved past Tom and into the hallway, the servants leaving them to themselves. Tom caught up to him with a few strides, and Harry slowed down reluctantly when Tom did, their pace reducing to something unbearably casual. At this rate, it would take several minutes for them to reach the dining hall instead of forty-odd seconds, and Harry resisted the urge to grind his teeth.

"Harry," Tom said chidingly, "You really mustn't surround yourself with those beneath you. It's unbecoming."

It took a moment for the word to hit him, but when they did, Harry flushed in anger.

"They are not _beneath_ me," Harry said heatedly. "They are _our people_ ; they keep us going as much as we them."

"Is that so," Tom replied, clearly uninterested, and Harry clenched his jaw and balled his fists, turning his eyes away and to the floor. "I'm prohibiting you from spending any time I deem unnecessary around them," Tom said, then, and Harry's face snapped upward, eyes widening.

"What?" he demanded, incredulously. " _What_?" He stopped walking altogether, face twisted into an angry mess. "How dare- You are not my father, nor my mother! You don't have the _right_ to order me around like this-"

"Need I remind you," replied Tom coldly, eyes flashing, and for a moment, that magic was back, pressing at him from every side, infecting his every breath, stilling his movements completely, "That I am your King?"

Harry paled, stepping back quickly a few paces, putting distance between himself and this cold _thing_ that now ruled his country. Again, something flashed in Tom's eyes, almost _satisfied_ this time.

"You would do well to remember it, Harry," he said with a low voice, that strange headiness from in the ceremony seeping back into it. Harry swallowed and ripped his eyes away, flushing in both anger at being treated like a child and the mortification of his slip-up. In his anger, he'd forgotten Tom was not some simple nobleman wooing his mother anymore, if he ever was at all.

Tom started walking again and beckoned Harry to follow him with a sharp gesture. Harry did so after a moment of incredulous pause, hurrying to catch up with the man's long legs.

"You may, of course, gather things from the kitchen, and ride your precious mare, and such frivolous things," Tom continued as if he had never been interrupted, and Harry found himself listening attentively, trying to find a loophole in the words. "You are allowed to interact with the servants on a bare minimum level; to communicate what you wish to have, and they will give it to you. I will know if you do not obey," Tom said without emotion, "and the consequences will be not for you, but for those you interact with; so be a good prince who cares for _his people_ , and do as I say." He turned to face Harry, and Harry twisted his face into something miserable. "Trust me, Harry, it pains me to do this, but I cannot allow your mind to be muddied by the uneducated opinions of those who have no knowledge of the things that matter." Tom had the audacity to look sincere. "This is all for your sake."

Harry stayed silent, heart clenching in his chest, flashes of misery and rage jumping through his head like a flashlight. They arrived at last in front of the doors to the dining room. Tom stopped in front of them, his face reverting to the charming thing he'd worn in the kitchens.

"Dinner, Harry?"

Harry clenched his teeth and gave a forced smile as rage dominated his mind once more, shooting poison from his eyes. "I'm fine, Your Majesty—"

"Please, Harry. I am your uncle." Tom tilted his head, his soft, charming demeanor barely concealing the cold amusement beneath. "Address me as so."

They both knew it was an order.

Harry tilted his chin up, defiant. " _Uncle_ ," he stressed slowly. "I'll be studying in my rooms, if you wouldn't mind."

"I do mind, actually," Tom said softly, and opened the door to the dining room for Harry, and that was that. His mother wasn't there yet; they were early. Harry moved past Tom into the large room, taking comfort in the fact that if it came to it, he had space to run. Tom entered behind him and let the door fall closed, moving toward his chair at the end of the table. Harry took his customary place at Tom's left, discreetly moving his chair a little further away from the man. From Tom's amused face as Harry finally sat down, it hadn't gone unnoticed. Harry scowled at his empty plate, before schooling his features as the door opened once more and his mother came in.

"You're early," she said. "What a pleasant surprise; you really mustn't get too sucked into your studies, Harry," she joked. "Your grades can only go so high."

"I took it upon myself to retrieve him so we could have dinner on time tonight; it was only fitting after such an eventful day that he should take a break from his schoolwork," Tom said, smiling at Harry's mother as she took her place at Tom's right. She beamed back at him. Harry dug his nails into his clothed thigh under the table.

This time, it was Tom who clapped his hands to summon the food to them. Harry ate quickly, minding his manners but not caring enough to pace himself with Tom's seemingly perpetual state of casualness. It was rude, of course, but Tom didn't comment on it, and nor did Harry's mother, too busy making eyes at Tom. Harry forced the thought away, a sneer curling across his face for a split second before he schooled himself.

After far too long, Harry finally finished eating, placing his cutlery quietly on his plate to show he didn't wish to eat more. Tom had made it ridiculously clear that Harry was to spend dinner by mentioning him taking a break from schoolwork, and the wisps of magic teasing at his senses reinforced the sentiment, so Harry stayed at the table like a good little prince and waited rather impatiently for dessert.

Thankfully the staff seemed to read his mind and delivered him a gorgeous-looking and smelling treacle tart with a small scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side, the warm tart with the cold ice creating a wonderful sensation in his mouth. Harry practically swallowed his dessert down whole, to his mother's amused disapproval, but he fell still when he noticed the odd look in Tom's eyes. Instead he severed a smaller piece than before with his fork and set to eating politely, which for some reason seemed to amuse _Tom_.

"How has your school work progressed?" Lily asked near the end of their meal. Harry blinked, and tipped his head slightly to the side.

"It's gone well," he said, pushing his fork through another part of the treacle tart, severing it cleanly. "I haven't fallen behind anywhere, and I've even progressed ahead of the class on Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration."

"That's good," his mother said brightly. Harry smiled at her. "I do have to admit, darling, that Tom and I were considering keeping you at home for the rest of the school year. There's only a few weeks left, barely two months, and we'd get tutors in, of course; especially since you seem to be ahead on the coursework already, we didn't think it would be a problem."

Harry fought the urge to splutter in indignation, wide eyes darting towards Tom, who was sitting with an unreadable expression on his face, cherry stem held between his fingers. His jaw seemed to be working at something, likely the fruit itself, and his mouth was curled into a smirk so subtle that Harry would have missed it if he weren't trained in catching microexpressions.

"What about my friends?" Harry asked carefully.

"You can owl them, of course, but I thought some familial bonding wouldn't be misplaced," his mother said, waving her small hand. "Besides, I would imagine you'd be tired of cozying up to the sons and daughters of nobles all the time. This'll be a time to relax, let down our masks a little. Tom will up the security so the paparazzi can't bother us."

Let down their masks. Harry swallowed heavily and glanced again toward Tom, who was pressing against his mouth with a napkin, eyes averted innocently, but meeting Harry's after a moment regardless. Yeah, right.

After a minute or so, Harry nodded in acceptance- it'd likely already been arranged either way. Lily smiled warmly. From the corner of Harry's eye, he could see Tom's mouth split into a grin.

"I think I'll get back to my work now," Harry mumbled when they were all done, and Lily nodded her consent. Harry pushed himself away from the table and fled the room quicker than was strictly necessary. He moved down the corridors rapidly, curling his own magic around himself as a sort of shield against the foreign magic blanketing the palace. Not that it helped; he could still feel its oppressive weight pushing on his own magic, not a trace of his father's magic left in the entire building. Even Harry's room felt different.

Harry entered his private study and locked the door behind him, throwing a few wards across it just in case. He breathed in the slow, still air, resting his back against the sturdy oak while he allowed his heart to settle. His eyes found a glimmer of light to the left of him, and he turned his face toward it, breathing deeply. It was a narrow, long sword with an ivory sheath - a gift from the Zhang family. Harry's mind wandered, and he swallowed. He was quite certain Tom meant to secure the throne for himself, and he knew that as the prince, Harry was a threat to that claim. He closed his eyes and slumped against the door, his head falling back and thumping softly against the wood.

Maybe he'd request more fencing and swordsmanship lessons, Harry mused - with the powers Tom gained from becoming king, he was practically indestructible until he died or got replaced by Harry, so trying to survive the man in a duel would quickly show to be impossible.

Harry let out a sigh and opened his eyes, pushing off the door and toward his desk. He sat down inelegantly, eyeing the documents strewn across the wood. He cleared them aside - they weren't very important at the moment - and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, beginning to write letters to his friends, explaining the situation in concise terms.

Over the course of his writing, it dawned upon Harry that he had been very effectively cut off from pretty much all the outside influences in his life - partly by accident, through his mother's actions, but mostly very much on purpose.

He despaired for a moment before valiantly reminding himself that he could still exchange letters with his friends, but it was disheartening to realise all those friends had fathers and mothers who praised Tom, and looked up to him, and served him.

Harry sighed and sat back, putting down his quill with a bit more force than necessary. He set the letters aside for sending later and decided to work on his potions theory- he'd always been rather bad at that subject, no matter how many times their resident potions master had tried to explain it to him - not that the man was any good at teaching, Harry grumbled inwardly. It was like Snape had it out for him since he'd been born! James always joked that he'd always been like that and that it was 'best to leave the dungeon bat alone', but... Harry shook his head, leafing through his textbook.

He occupied himself like that for the rest of the evening, working through the sun's setting and with candlelight once it got too dark. Harry, to his relief, did feel like he'd learned a few things when he finally closed his books and stretched in his chair. A quick _tempus_ confirmed Harry's suspicion that he'd worked deep into the night, and he blew out all the candles with a whispered spell, bathing the room in silver moonlight from the windows. He went through the passage attaching his study to his private chambers and locked it firmly behind him once he was safely inside his room, which was also unlit by anything but the moon.

Harry shed his robes one by one and folded them, laying them on the bench at the foot of his bed with practiced movements. He dressed in a night robe and opened the balcony doors to go outside, slipping onto the balcony and allowing the cooling air to brush the fine hairs on his nape. Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair, looking around at the rest of the castle. His eyes focused on a particular window once more; Tom's rooms were in use. He could tell by the light emitting through the window. It was odd - Harry would have thought Tom would join his mother in her rooms nearer to Harry's... Perhaps he had some things in there he hadn't yet relocated, Harry justified to himself. He shrugged with nobody there to see it and moved to head back to the warmth of his room, silk brushing his legs in the sudden breeze that followed him inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody:  
> Tom: -horny noises-
> 
> And the plot thickens! Funnily enough, despite all Tom tries to do to hurry up the process, you can't really rush these kinds of things. Question: should I add some tags warning for signs of abusive relationships? Because that is, after all, what Tom is doing; isolating Harry from anyone who could point out what's happening, actively sabotaging his other relationships.
> 
> Yes, I am proving to you that I'm very aware of what's happening in my own fiction. I will show you how easy it is to ignore these patterns when they're slow and deliberate and not pointed out (as I am doing now). This fic is also read best as one long oneshot (it's designed to be read smoothly with flawless transitions, ergo the awkward cuts) which is also supposed to demonstrate how slippery the slope into an abusive relationship is. Stay safe and sane, my friends.
> 
> On another note, for those who wish to garner more chaos, these are available to you as well:
> 
> Join my [Discord](https://discord.gg/k2zQnuV), stalk my [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/itsevanffs), all that good stuff! Again, if you'd like more information and/or have questions, ask and ye shall receive. Did you know I incorporate a lot of religious imagery into my works? Me neither. A friend pointed it out, and now I look at it, it makes sense. Imagine being told your fics are biblical... What a dream.


	3. The First Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before you say ANYTHING.
> 
> i know nagini means 'female snake'. i have google. i made nagini a stallion for a reason that will later be revealed so please, on god, don't go laughing about it in the comments. i'm aware.  
> (besides, i like the idea of tom inspecting this very _male_ horse and going like 'yes this one's called female snake' and nobody can do anything about it. tom just sitting there, smug, while lucius has a mental breakdown about appropriate naming practices)
> 
> ah, also fair warning for incredibly creepy tom. this is where he starts losing all subtlety, if he even had any in the first place. no sexual content just yet (you're gonna be waiting some 20k more at the very least, my dears,) but it definitely has sexual undertones even throughout the entire chapter, so be careful if that's something you can't handle too well.
> 
> playlist? [playlist.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6A1RVMLuP1LO7jSyGcRkfT?si=u56yJFyaQe6ggCgfbNkM2Q) (spotify, i'll have one on youtube soon enough for you poor, non-premium bastards)

Harry awoke with a start to a curt knock on the door. He hadn't slept very well, restless in his new environment and surrounded by the strange, thrumming magic all night. With a groan he realised there was an uncomfortable pressure in his lower abdomen. He'd not suffered a morning wood for several months now, and he hadn't missed its presence in the slightest. "Just a moment!" he called to the person outside the door, grabbing the night robe from last night and throwing it on. It did nothing to hide his erection, the flimsy material being what it was, but it was _something_ resembling decency, and it was really the thought that counted. After a second's internal debate, Harry turned his eyes skyward in prayer, grabbed his wand, and sent an overpowered cooling spell across his entire body. He immediately regretted it, his skin fiercely complaining, but his morning wood wilted near-instantly, so he considered it a mission accomplished.

"Come in," he called toward the person behind the door, and a servant entered with a light breakfast on a silver rolling tray, followed by several maidservants, one of them holding a bundle of clothes. Harry could recognise his riding clothes even from here, and he raised his eyebrows in question- today was not a day he would normally go horse riding in the morning.

"His Royal Majesty has requested Your Royal Highness to join him for a morning horse ride," one of the maidservants elaborated. Harry blinked, then recalled the events of the past however long. Ah, so he didn't have a choice in the matter.

"Very well," Harry sighed, rising from the bed and fixing his silk night robe so his chest wasn't as exposed before he sat down to eat his breakfast. He made sure to be quick about it, because from the maidservants' jumpiness he could tell there was urgency to the message. When he was done, he nodded to the servant and allowed the maidservants to quickly bathe and dress him for his impromptu morning trip with Tom.

He moved downstairs in a flurry of tight-fitting black robes with golden embroidery, stopping only at the base of the stairs to fidget with his knee-high riding boots, adjusting them so they fit more comfortably. He exited through the back entrance of the palace, straightening his shoulders when he saw Tom waiting for him already, wearing a near-matching attire save for the royal brooches pinned across his chest and a lightweight dark green cloak draped across his shoulders.

"Good morning," Tom greeted pleasantly, and Harry eyed him suspiciously before returning the sentiment. "I hope I didn't inconvenience you, I simply thought it such lovely weather- the perfect morning for a ride. I've already ordered the stable boy to get our horses ready; they're waiting on the other side of the stables." Without waiting another moment, Tom strode through the stables toward where Harry could see their horses waiting, hot breaths condensing in the chilled morning air and flanks shining in the sun.

Hedwig and Nagini were polar opposites in pretty much every way; Nagini was a stallion, whereas Hedwig was a mare, and Hedwig's coat was a blinding white, Nagini's a glossy midnight black. The one thing they both shared, Harry learned quickly, was that they both bowed down to nobody but Harry and Tom respectively. The symmetry wasn't lost on him, and he cast a nervous glance toward his uncle, who approached the black horse with great confidence and swung onto Nagini's back in one movement.

Tom looked at Harry expectantly, and Harry let out a breath before mounting his mare as well. He waited a moment for her to stabilise and make sure everything was in the right place before Tom set off at an easy pace, Harry following him into the warming sun. They crossed into the treeline and traveled through the dense forest, and Harry felt even this had become unfamiliar to him with Tom's magic blanketing the area as it did the palace.

They rode for some time in silence, an absence of noise which lay halfway between uncomfortable and polite. Just as the fog began to rise, lifting off the dew-bejeweled grass, they entered a clearing Harry knew was a few miles out. The clearing stretched quite far - Harry could barely see the other end of it through the fog, even from his vantage point atop Hedwig. Tom slid off his horse,his boots making a soft noise when they collided with the damp grass. He fastened Nagini to a tree and motioned for Harry to get off Hedwig. Harry did after a moment's hesitation, and bound Hedwig far enough away from Nagini that he was assured they couldn't hurt each other.

Harry patted off his trousers, unnerved by Tom's blatant staring. "So," he said after a moment, uncomfortable, "any reason we stopped here?"

"None in particular," Tom replied easily, adjusting Nagini's saddle slightly. "I've always wanted to explore the palace grounds, yet I never had the opportunity to. This seemed a good place to start, and I assume you know your way around." He looked at Harry meaningfully and Harry swallowed.

"I guess you could say that," he replied absently, casting a look around the clearing once again. He supposed it was a rather pretty place to take walks in, but nothing more- the mist curling across the grass gave it a mystical atmosphere, and there were small blue and red wildflowers blooming against a yellowish backdrop, but that was it. "I don't think there's anything interesting here, though," Harry said.

"On the contrary," Tom hummed, done with Nagini and now heading toward him with leisurely strides. He had his hands in his pockets and his hair was undone by the wind, framing his dark eyes, which were focused on Harry. "I think there's more than enough that's interesting here."

Harry swallowed.

Tom didn't stop approaching until he was almost chest to chest with Harry, looming over him. Once again Harry was reminded of their sheer height difference. It seemed impossible that Tom had been there since early March- it had seemed much longer, or much shorter- Harry wasn't sure. Maybe it was because he'd been avoiding the man.

Then Tom leaned down until their faces were inches apart, and Harry leaned back, eyes widening. Tom smirked.

"Why are you here?" Harry blurted out.

Tom retreated a little, eyes widening minutely before his expression schooled into something unimpressed. "Whatever do you mean?" he drawled, eyes searching Harry's face. He was still too close.

"I... You don't really love my mother, do you?" Harry said, and flinched back when Tom's expression turned stormy.

"Does it matter?" Tom said, cocking his head. His eyes flashed dangerously.

"I mean," Harry said, taking a few steps back, "yes? I want her to be happy."

"Have you seen her unhappy?" Tom said, straightening up and closing the distance again.

Harry swallowed, retreated again. "I suppose not."

"Then is there a problem?" Tom said, matching Harry step for step.

"I-" Harry cut himself off, worrying his lip with his teeth. He started when his back hit a tree, head turning to glance beside him. They'd reached the treeline again- the horses were a few hundred feet away, grazing gently.

"I thought not," Tom said, placing an arm against the tree above Harry's head and leaning down until their breaths mingled.

Tom made to move even closer and Harry inhaled with a squeak and ducked away, stumbling a few paces through the tall grass in a panic, trying to put distance between them before turning toward Tom with wide, shocked eyes, arms half raised in a defensive stance.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?" Harry cried, distressed. He swallowed heavily when Tom slowly turned his head to face him, expression back to stormy, yet his eyes were blown wide. "What's gotten into you?"

"Does it matter?" Tom repeated, pushing off the tree and running a hand through his hair.

"You- I don't know what you're trying to do, but you're my _uncle_ ," Harry stressed, anxiously taking a few more steps back.

"You forget I'm also a king," Tom reminded him pleasantly. "I can do whatever I damn well please."

"I," Harry began, "we should get back. I have things to do. I need to do my homework."

Tom raised a disbelieving eyebrow but didn't say anything when Harry turned around and sped toward Hedwig, simply following behind at his own pace. Harry realised belatedly he had been temporarily removed from Hogwarts just yesterday and mentally kicked himself. They unfastened the reins and mounted their respective horses. Before they started a steady trot back, Harry swore he heard Tom say something.

" _I will have you one day, Harry Potter. Just you wait._ "

Harry shook it off, shaking his head firmly.

They approached the stables again some fifteen minutes later and Harry got off Hedwig without a word, walking away stiffly. He glanced back only once, feeling more than seeing those eyes boring into his skin, expression unreadable. Harry crossed his arms across his chest, ducking his head as he entered the palace, trying to relax now that he knew Tom could no longer see him directly, but failing miserably - Tom’s magic still lay heavy around him, never letting up.

He made his way quickly toward his room and locked the door behind him, breathing shakily. He pressed his palms against the firm wood and rested his forehead against it, trying to compose himself somewhat, to get his mind off things. After a few long moments Harry pushed off the door and walked toward his nightstand, gathering up the copy of Hamlet he'd been reading and flipping it open to where he'd left off.

It wasn't long before he was interrupted by another knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called, placing his book away again after placing the bookmark between its pages once more. A maid peeked her head in, her eyes slightly apprehensive.

“Your presence has been requested in the drawing room, Your Royal Highness.” Harry nodded, and she disappeared again, slipping the door closed behind her.

Harry took a moment to calm himself, again, before he got up from the settee and made his way out of his room and toward the drawing room; the main one on the ground floor. He took a deep breath before knocking on the door, and the voices behind it hushed before Harry’s mother called clearly for him to come in. Harry opened the door and strode through with a small, pleasant smile on his face, ignoring the figure of his uncle standing next to where his mother was sitting across from a man in his early 30s, from what Harry could tell.

“Harry!” Lily greeted him happily. “I’m glad you came down quickly. Mr Crouch, this is my son, Prince Harry of Magical Britain. Harry, this is Bartemius Crouch Junior- he’ll be your tutor.” His mother indicated the man, who gave a small and nervous, but genuine smile. Harry smiled back, straightening his robes absently.

“It’s truly a pleasure, Your Royal Highness,” Mr Crouch said, rising and bowing deeply. Harry nodded his head in return.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He turned to his mother and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Tutor? Singular?”

“Mr Crouch’s expertise is very broad; I’ve heard only good things about him, and what’s the point of having a tutor for every subject when you can have one for them all? Who knows, his combined knowledge might even teach you new things- bridges between topics you haven’t noticed before.” She waved her hand at the man and tilted her head at Harry. “Sit, sit - we’ll be here for a little bit, there’s no need to be so formal.”

Harry did as asked, sitting down on the same couch his mother occupied, on the other end. He could feel Tom moving to stand between them behind the couch, his body heat reaching Harry even from there. Harry swallowed, composed himself, then met Mr Crouch’s eyes.

“Do tell them,” Tom said behind them, the smooth baritone of his voice shocking Harry into a small twitch, “the full extent of your expertise, if you will?” Tom rested his hands on the back of the couch, the fingers of his left hand brushing Harry’s sleeve. Harry focused on controlling his breathing, the fine hairs on his nape rising. Cold seeped through his clothes into his skin from the point of contact.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Mr Crouch said, and proceeded to explain in some depth about his expertise. It was interesting enough, if a bit long-winded, but Harry didn’t quite care enough to remember any of it - he’d learn it all later, anyways. He smiled politely and nodded here and there, shifting slightly every once in a while. At one point, he felt Tom’s fingers press against his arm, exploratively, and Harry’s smile faltered slightly. He shifted his arm away slightly, almost unnoticeably, until they were no longer touching, before he relaxed again, trying to appear as natural as he could. Nobody seemed to have noticed, except for maybe Tom, but Harry wasn’t about to look at the man to gauge his reaction. Mr Crouch kept talking, answering Harry’s mother’s questions politely.

After some time, Mr Crouch left again after bowing to Harry, his mother and Tom once more, and they headed to the dining room for lunch. 

“Do you like him, Harry?” his mother asked while they were eating, cutlery clicking softly against the plates. “You seemed a bit off.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry,” Harry said, waving his hand, “I like him quite a lot- he seems very nice. I just had something on my mind, that’s all - nothing important, but it still ate at me for a bit.”

“If you’re sure,” Lily said, glancing at him one last time before she turned back to her food. Harry let out a controlled breath and glanced at Tom, who was looking at him, head tilted slightly. Harry looked back down at his plate and continued eating, stomach twisting into knots.

He studied some more for the rest of the day, trying to distract himself, before he finally called it quits around ten in the evening and asked a servant to prepare him a bath.

As he relaxed into the warm water, steam rising around him, his mind couldn’t help but stray back to that morning. Tom had come close enough that Harry could smell the man’s scent, a mix of something sweet, woody, the deep smell of musk lingering in Harry’s nose for some time after.

And Tom had stood close enough that Harry had been able to feel the warmth of him, seeping through his clothes despite the chill morning air. Harry lifted his hand to his chest, rubbing it absently. The memory of it felt so _real_ , as if they were still standing there...

The warmth increased, ghosting over Harry's skin, and Harry's eyes opened, realising that something real _was_ , in fact, there. Something awfully familiar. It took a moment, but Harry remembered then, startled, the magic from the carriage ride. It was the same magic.

Again, it brushed over his skin, dipping deeper to tease at Harry's own magic every so often, drawing it up and out. Just like before, Harry couldn't stop his own reacting, pushing against the foreign magic, trying to make it back off; but just like before, his own was swallowed by it, played like a puppet's string by dexterous hands.

Harry sat as still as he could, willing for the magic to get bored or distracted and leave. It felt so _invasive_ , like his skin was being peeled back, exposing everything inside for anyone to see. Harry wrapped his arms around himself, curling up in the warm water that suddenly felt far too cold, and tucked his head against his shoulder, closing his eyes.

The magic retreated slightly, then returned, washing over his skin like a blanket of heat, curling around his crouched shape as if protective. In an odd way, Harry was reminded of Tom.

Later, as he lay himself down in bed in preparation for sleep, he revisited this thought, finding it very odd indeed- for as long as he had known the man, there lay nothing warm beneath that friendly face; only cold amusement and harsh cruelty - and whatever those eyes had held when they turned blood red the moment Tom had been crowned.

Harry tossed and turned in his sheets, unable to calm his mind for quite some time, before he finally fell into a fitful sleep.

He awoke to the distinct sensation of the matress being pressed down on all sides of his body. His bleary eyes blinked open, flicking up to meet bright red rings peering down at him. Harry froze.

His hand jerked, silently calling for his wand, but it didn't budge from wherever he'd put it. Under his pillow, right? Harry swallowed, trying to make out the face of whoever had him pinned. The red rings were irises, he could tell as much, and they seemed to glow in the dark, illuminating the sharp, narrow bridge of a nose and high cheekbones. A lock of hair slipped down from the person's hair to their forehead and the clouds passed from in front of the moon, illuminating Harry's room in soft silver moonlight. At once Harry could make out the distinct figure of his uncle looming above him, face set into something stern; an expression Harry hadn't seen before on him.

"You-" Harry began, panicking, but his voice was lost to him with a silencing spell before he could speak another word.

"Now now," Tom murmured, eyes searching Harry's face before his expression transformed completely, smug smirk resettling on his mouth. "Let's not wake your mother, shall we?"

Harry's heart rose to his throat in panic, and all his thoughts were rushing, his muscles locked in place. He wasn't petrified, he could tell as much, but it was still odd; usually Harry was a fighter, not a freezer. He was sure Tom would kill him- the man could take anything and lift it to Harry's throat, and a simple movement could mean it was over.

Tom frowned, and the moonlight disappeared, casting the room in shadow again while his eyes flared up once more. "Don't be dramatic, Harry," he said, and his weight moved off Harry, to the side. There was a shuffling noise until Harry felt another body slide under the covers with his, legs tangling together, the cold of Tom's feet against his legs shocking Harry into jerking away- but Tom's arm, also cold, wrapped around his waist and pulled him back into a warm, firm chest. "I'm not going to do anything. Just go to sleep."

Harry lay there, as still as he could get, while Tom's breath brushed against his nape, quickly evening out into the slow, steady rhythm only the sleeping adopted. This close, Harry could again smell Tom- first the slightly sweet, fresh smell of lemongrass, followed by something woody, musky. Pine, or something. There was more, of course, but it was all twisted into the unique scent that was _Tom_ , too multi-layered to make out. Mint, maybe. Harry shook himself from his thoughts, suddenly acutely aware of the heat seeping through his night robe and into his back. He tried to shift, but Tom's arm tightened around him, hot breath fanning out over Harry's neck. A cold nose brushed against his skin as Tom burrowed closer.

He didn't know how long he lay there before he finally fell asleep, vaguely aware of the moon peeking behind the clouds a few more times before his eyes finally slipped closed, relaxing slightly as the mostly unwelcome thought that _this wasn't all too bad_ flitted across his mind, forgotten as soon as it appeared.

He awoke slowly, eyes blinking open against the sunlight streaming into his room. His head was fuzzy, and he made to rise to rub at his eyes, but he was stopped by something wrapped around his waist, holding him down. His hand moved towards it, attempting to pry it off, but it wouldn't budge. Before he could do anything else, his hand was grabbed. Harry's eyes shot open and he looked down, then turned to look to his back, coming face to face with Tom, who was watching him with hooded, dark eyes, the red of last night almost a dream.

"What's the rush?" Tom said, pulling Harry closer and manoeuvring his free hand to wrap around Harry's waist from underneath, transferring Harry's captive hand. Tom's newly freed hand wandered down, settling on Harry's thigh, thumbing at the seam of fabric there. Goosebumps raised along Harry's skin.

Harry stiffened and with one great jerking movement twisted himself out of Tom's hold, throwing himself off the bed. Only because of years of training did he manage to land on his feet with only a slight stagger. Tom's eyes followed him for a moment before he closed them, rolling onto his back leisurely, a smile spreading its way across his face.

Harry looked at him, bewildered, before it turned into rage. He turned, robe whipping around him and stalked into the closet, fuming. That _bastard_. He pulled on the first thing he found that looked decent before rushing back out, stopping short when Tom was nowhere to be seen. Harry let out a bewildered breath.

He ran his hands through his hair. What the hell was _that_?

Just to be sure, Harry rushed to check around the room- behind the curtains, under the covers, in the bathroom, behind the door. Nothing. The man - he'd just _up and left_. Harry sat down on his bed and let out a breath, closing his wide eyes. He lifted his hands to his face and rubbed the blood back into his skin, pinching at his nose. Right. Breakfast, then.

He took breakfast alone for the first time in a long while and moved through the day like he was floating. Everything rushed past, and before he knew it, the sun was setting and they all gathered for dinner.

"Did you have a nice day, Harry?" his mother asked, smiling at him from her place across from him. She looked tired and pale, the blue under her eyes badly hidden, but well enough, so Harry decided not to push it.

"A bit uneventful," Harry said, picking slightly at his food before he caught himself and raised his fork to his mouth, tugging the green leaves off with his teeth. His eyes were drawn, involuntarily, to Tom, who was looking at him with a smug smirk adorning his lips. Harry bristled and straightened.

"Quite a slow day today, wasn't it?" Tom hummed before taking a bite himself. Lily nodded her affirmation.

"Yes," she said. "I've also been feeling rather faint all day, but hopefully it'll clear soon enough. There has been terribly much excitement the last few days, after all; perhaps I simply have to take it slow for a few days."

Tom leveled a look of concern at her, brows furrowing. "You do that, dear; we can't have you falling ill."

Harry mirrored his actions. "Are you sure you feel well enough?" he asked her. She nodded.

"Yes, I'm quite alright."

"I'll take you to the healer if it's not gone in three days," Tom said, and Harry's eyes flicked over to look at him. He looked concerned still, but something didn't sit right with Harry. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before he continued eating, and they finished the rest of dinner without much more ado.

That night Harry lay in bed, unable to sleep, ears open for any sound, eyes trying to grasp any movement. It wasn't until the sun rose again that his eyes finally drooped and he fell asleep.

Several days later, Harry sighed as he relaxed into the warm water of his bath, having spared the entire afternoon for it. The stiffness in his muscles slowly seeped out, replaced by comfortable heat. He'd been so on edge the past week, constantly expecting to wake up to Tom looming over him, to a body pressed against his. Sometimes Harry could swear he felt that hot breath against his nape, that firm grip around his wrists.

The servants had left earlier upon Harry's dismissal and he'd been left alone to his thoughts since, so for the last... twenty minutes, he figured it might have been now, he'd been trying to convince himself the entire encounter had been a dream, maybe a nightmare. He flexed his fingers under water, relishing in the feeling of the water flowing past his fingers.

Just then the door opened and Tom stepped through dressed only in a robe, his bare chest visible through the part in the fabric. Harry scrambled upright in the water, streams flowing down his form as he straightened.

"Uncle!" Harry gasped. "You- What are you doing here?"

Tom smiled. "I wanted company, dear Harry." He stepped closer, toward the edge of the bath. "Are you enjoying your bath?" Tom asked casually as he let the robe fall from his body and to the floor. Harry kept his eyes strictly on the man's face and didn't miss the way the king admired himself slightly in the mirrors.

"Yes," Harry replied hesitantly. Tom turned to him again and smiled, beatific.

"I'm glad to hear that. I hope you don't mind my joining you - I simply believe a small talk is quite overdue." Tom stepped into the opaque water, and to Harry's great relief sat down, mint green tinged water obscuring his lower body as it did Harry's.

"Of course," Harry mumbled softly, turning his gaze away. "What did you want to talk about?"

Tom didn't answer for quite some time while Harry watched him in the mirror, and instead relaxed into the warm water, muscles rippling as he shifted.

"Your mother's fine, by the way," Tom hummed. "I took her to the healer yesterday, since I wasn't too sure about her recent bout of lightheadedness, but they can't find anything."

"That's a relief," Harry sighed. With what had happened to his father, the fear of it repeating was always present in the background.

They sat together in silence, Harry waiting for Tom to say something, indicate they were going to talk like he mentioned, and Tom simply watching Harry with no apparent hurry to get anything discussed.

Harry looked around nervously, then cleared his throat. "Why... why are you here?" he asked again, for lack of a better subject.

Tom smiled at him. "Why not?"

Harry shifted. "Well, you could... It wouldn't trouble the servants to prepare another bath, and you could talk to me any time you wished, so why _now_?"

Tom hummed, long and drawn out. "I suppose I wished to see what arrangement of herbal blends you use in your bath, would be one of the reasons. Another is that I like you, and quite a bit. There's no harm in a shared bath, is there? We're family, after all, and this thing-" he gestured to the water around them, "-is large enough." He tilted his head, smile shifting into a smirk. "Maybe it's because you're very pretty, Harry, and I like looking at you. Maybe it's because I find you interesting. Maybe it's simply because I can do anything I want, and nobody can tell me otherwise."

Harry swallowed as Tom rose and waded closer, moving through the water nearly effortlessly, going to his knees in front of Harry- even then, he loomed over him, eyes glinting. Harry shrunk back, eyes darting to the side.

"How odd," Tom crooned, hand rising to Harry's face. Harry flinched away, but the hand followed, pressing into the flesh of his cheek and tracing his cheekbone down to his lips, and then down again, following his jawline. "You look exactly like your father when he was young, but you have your mother's eyes..." Tom smirked, leaning back slightly as he raked his eyes over Harry's face, his shoulders, his chest. "Uncanny, if you ask me."

Harry inhaled shakily, recalling the anger he'd felt the morning after Tom had crawled into his bed. "If you won't leave, I will."

Tom let out a soft laugh, eyes pinning Harry in place. "I'd like to see you try."

Harry pursed his lips and then stood abruptly, climbing rather gracelessly out of the water and onto the smooth marble tiled floor. He reached out and with a sharp burst of magic pulled a bathrobe to his person, wrapping it around himself before he walked swiftly out of the room. Even as he left, he could almost feel Tom's stare lingering against his skin, unsettled at the way that his actions had not shocked or upset the man. His magic merely felt... smug.

And that was it, wasn't it? The magic that lingered around Harry, probed at him; it was Tom's. Harry faltered, his steps slowing, before he composed himself and pulled his robe tighter across his body, opening the doorway to the shortcut between his room and his study, aching for a drink.

He sat down heavily behind his desk, pushing the papers on them aside, his bathrobe slipping off his shoulders at the forceful movements. Harry shrugged as he leaned over to grab the glass pitcher of whiskey and an ornate glass, trying to get the fabric back up, but it proved futile. Confused, Harry looked down at the robe and found, to his mortification, that he’d taken Tom’s- the distinct dark satin red flashing in the low light when he grabbed it in sudden panic as if to taunt him. Of course it wouldn’t stay on, even with the enchantments; it was far too big. Defeated, Harry let his head drop in his hands, nearly knocking the whiskey over with his movements.

Attention brought back to the amber liquid, Harry eyed it wearily. Making a choice, he filled half his glass and brought the thing to his lips, throwing back half of it in one go. A few seconds later the alcohol hit him like a train and he went slack in his chair, head rolling back tiredly. The stress and tension seeped from his muscles, a scorching heat burning his insides into pleasantly smoking pieces. A comfortable fuzz settled over his brain. Harry licked his teeth to chase the aftertaste of the whiskey, absent eyes wandering about his study.

Over the past few weeks this room had become more familiar to him than any other in the palace, ever since Tom had stepped into Harry and Lily’s lives. Harry knew it wasn’t healthy to shut himself away from the realities of life, that he couldn’t sustain this behaviour for long, but he didn’t quite care. In some ways he was angry at his mother, seemingly forgetting about James the moment Tom appeared in her field of vision - disgusted at the way she chose to marry a man who was essentially direct family, nevermind that she was no longer able to conceive nor that she wasn’t blood related to Tom in any way more than she had been to Harry’s father. And yet, Harry was just the same, wasn’t he?

Harry’s mouth twisted into something miserable and he lashed out, casting the glass of whiskey to the carpet. It rolled, the whiskey splashing everywhere, spilling out of the glass in a dull orange spray. Immediately footsteps hurried down the hallway and a servant slipped inside to clean the mess, vanishing it from the carpet with a complicated motion of her wand before she grabbed the glass, inspecting it for damage in the low light. Absently she spelled the pitcher into the liquor cabinet and out of Harry’s immediate reach before she left again, leaving the study exactly like it had been before, papers restored to their places on the desk.

Harry watched in silence, expression carefully blank, and when her footsteps had receded down the hallway he dropped his head into his arms and twisted his fingers into his hair, tugging at the strands harshly enough that Harry thought he might have ripped some of them out.

“I want him _gone_ ,” he moaned miserably, voice muffled by the fabric of Tom’s bathrobe. “It’s been long enough, he can _leave_ now.”

Nothing answered him, but Harry hadn’t expected it to. Luckily the magic - _Tom’s_ magic - wasn’t present at the moment, because Harry had been vulnerable quite enough times under its influence. 

Harry wasted the afternoon away lounging drunkenly in his study, riding off the last waves of intoxication before, inevitably, a headache would force its way between his temples and spill down the back of his neck.

He took dinner alone, this time, tensed loosely in anticipation for a request to join his mother and Tom that never came. The servants brought his food up silently, saying nothing of his state of undress nor of whom his robe quite obviously belonged to. Harry ate alone with ears tinged red, shame filling him. What would they think? Harry knew he shouldn’t care what the staff thought, vowed to silence as they were - he’d been trained out of thinking like such, but this was the first time he’d been truly intoxicated and his emotions were harder to push away like this.

In his upset, he rose from his desk and strode over to the liquor cabinet, retrieving the whiskey the maid had placed there before, as well as another glass. He poured it, then drank, then poured more and drank again, staggering on his feet. It was late, now - lost in his thoughts he’d wasted quite some time. He stumbled to the door, pulling his robe tighter around his shoulders fruitlessly, intent on finding Snape for a sobering potion.

He wandered into the quiet halls- the servants were all downstairs, cleaning the rooms that were in use during the day, and most of the lights had been dimmed. Still every now and again a member of staff scuttled by, avoiding his eyes. Harry crossed his arms over his chest and burrowed deeper into his robe, allowing the warming runes to heat his skin and seep into his muscles.

Nearer to the healer’s quarters it was even darker and gloomier than the wing where Harry’s rooms were, but he supposed that was just because Snape was a bite away from being a vampire in full- the man acted like one often enough, with his deathly pale skin and the perpetual blue circles around his eyes, always going around dressed in large black robes that dwarfed his body and despising any form of light. Harry snorted at the mental image, stumbling.

He squinted when he saw the form of a tall and broad man walking slightly up ahead, tripping over his feet in order to catch up with him. The man turned, and Harry thought he looked familiar but couldn’t quite place him. A new staff member, maybe. He was dressed similarly enough, either way- in dark, form-fitting clothing with a uniform-like feel to them.

“H’llo,” Harry slurred once he’d caught up with the man, before he frowned and rolled his tongue in his mouth, displeased at the thickness of it. The man said nothing, slowing down a bit, casting an odd look Harry’s way. Harry squinted his eyes at him, everything blurred due to a combination of the alcohol and darkness. “New, aren’t you?”

The man, probably a servant, didn’t reply, and Harry let him stay quiet, figuring there was a decent reason. He was slightly unnerved by the look the man was giving him but he pushed it away- he’d let himself be scared of Tom enough, he wouldn’t add some random staff-person to that list. Harry nodded to his own conclusion.

“Thought so,” he said, swaying slightly. “I’m not usually drunk, I promise,” he told the man firmly, though it came out more like a petulant insistence. Harry frowned, about to try again, when the man nodded slowly, eyes never leaving Harry’s face. Harry smiled toothily, then grimaced again. “It’s just- my uncle,” Harry said, as if that explained everything. The man raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. Harry absently wondered if he was mute. If he was, it meant he couldn’t snitch. Provided his occlumency was in order, anyways. Harry was too drunk to test it.

“Y’know what,” Harry sighed, “I shouldn’t even be telling you this. But,” he added, eyes widening dramatically, “you’re new, so I’m sure you won’t tell.” He reached up and patted the man’s shoulder, even though the man was surely a full head taller than him. In the low light, Harry was sure the man’s cheeks flushed a bit, though he really couldn’t tell all that well so he didn’t comment on it. “My uncle’s a bloody prick,” he said instead. “He’s only just turned king and he struts around like he owns the place.”

The man tilted his head, considering, that unreadable gaze sharpening. Harry ignored it.

“He just,” Harry began, gesturing complicatedly as if that would summon the words to his head, “makes me so… he makes me angry, y’know? He’s always in my space, the- the…” Harry faltered. He didn’t know what insult to use. Shaking his head, he turned to the man, squinting up at him. “ _You_ , however. You look nice. Pleasant.” Harry smiled. “I’m sure you’re a much better person than Tom, although that bar really isn’t set all that high.” He reached up and patted the man’s cheek absently, half-aware of the way the man’s breathing slowed to something awfully controlled in an unsettlingly familiar way.

“I like your cheekbones,” Harry told him lightly. “How old are you?” he added, more seriously, peering up at the man after dropping his hand. “Wait, don’t answer,” Harry said, suddenly annoyed, stepping back. “I don’t want to know. I bet you’re like. Eighty, or something.” The man’s mouth twitched, but Harry ignored it. “Yeah, that's probably it,” he muttered. “It's really unfair how people can still look so handsome even when they're bloody ancient…” Harry trailed off, mind wandering back to a blurred memory of Tom. He scowled. “But yeah, I hate my uncle.”

The man looked at him, still so bloody unreadable. Harry let his eyes sweep over the man's form, sizing him up. Then he remembered.

“Oh, right!” he exclaimed, then clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle himself, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I'm not allowed to talk to staff.” The man’s mouth twitched again, and Harry tilted his head, his whole body swaying with the movement. “Well,” he amended after a moment, “Nobody’s here to see it, so I won’t tell if you don’t.” Harry stepped closer after looking around, leaning in close to the man to whisper in his ear. “The local _daddy_ might just kill you if he found out,” he drawled, the words slurring slightly. Harry stepped back, face blank. “Sorry in advance for that, by the way.”

“I see,” the man said, the first time he’d spoken in their conversation - so he wasn’t mute - his voice awfully familiar. Harry squinted at him. “I think you’ve drunk quite enough,” he said, and stepped toward Harry, placing his hand - cold! Harry could feel the cold seep in through the robe, even with the enchantments. Was the man doing it on purpose? - on Harry’s upper back. “I’m afraid I don’t trust you to get to Severus for a sobering draught by yourself, so allow me to accompany you.”

“Because you asked so nicely,” Harry said flippantly, yawning rudely. “I’m tired.”

“I’ll escort you to your rooms afterward.”

They made their way to Snape's rooms and the man knocked. A few moments passed before the door opened to the sight of the healer looking tired, grumpy and worn, but he stiffened and straightened up when he caught sight of Harry's companion. Snape's mouth opened but the man next to Harry did something to make him pale further and close his mouth. The man's hand tightened on Harry's back, fingertips digging in slightly when Harry turned to see, but didn't do anything else to stop Harry looking.

He had his finger raised to his lips in a gesture to keep quiet, but dropped his hand when his eyes met Harry's, a mysterious smile spreading over his mouth.

“A sobering draught for him, Severus,” the man said softly, pleasantly - and Harry had never seen the potions master in such a rush to fetch anything ever before.

“Are you _that_ scary?” Harry asked the man, who said nothing and simply looked at him. “I know you're tall and have a nice face, but you're just a servant, aren't you?”

There was a choking noise from inside the room and those dark eyes flicked back to Snape's form, narrowing.

“I have no idea, Harry,” the man said slowly, deliberately, not looking at Harry but instead fixed on Snape. “Do you think I am?”

Harry didn't know if he was referring to the man being a servant or his being frightening so he turned away and ignored him, holding out his hand impatiently to the healer. Snape deposited the small vial in Harry's hand and Harry fumbled to open it, but it was plucked away by cold, deft fingers of a hand the mirror image of the one still on his back.

“Come,” the man said, “let us leave Severus to his own and return to your room. The draught is no use to you if you manage to drop and shatter it, after all.”

Harry clenched his hand around air, the vial between his fingers gone, its absence tangible. Cold lingered on his skin. They walked through the cold halls, mostly empty, ever dark, quiet like mice. The man didn't speak again, nor did Harry. Harry could feel goosebumps raise on his nape despite the warming runes in his robe. The man's hand never left his upper back, still leeching the heat away, ever so cold despite its prolonged contact with the warmed robe. Harry fought down a shiver, feeling another wave of hair rising on his back, travelling up his spine.

At last they arrived in the corridor leading to Harry's rooms again, and then they stood before Harry's door. Harry stopped awkwardly before it, turning to look at the man.

"This is me," he joked uncomfortably, immediately wincing at the words even as the man's mouth quirked upwards into something not quite amused but more... unsettling, making a loose gesture at the closed door. "I suppose you should go back to whatever you were doing, then, now that you've safely escorted me." Harry held out his hand expectantly for the sobering draught. "If I sit down while I open it I won't drop it."

"Oh," the man said, his hand sliding down to Harry's lower back before he lifted it away, the slight shivers that had plagued Harry for quite some time now - he'd not noticed - suddenly easing up in a moment of warm relief. "I do recommend you lie down; the sobering draughts Severus makes are not modest in their lethargic properties, and it wouldn't do to have you collapse." The man held out his hand, the vial of semi-opaque blueish fluid lying innocently in his palm.

Harry took it and frowned, holding it up in the low light to inspect its colour and texture. "Lethargic? I thought they were supposed to work similarly to a pepper-up potion."

"True," the man said, stepping back once and folding his arms behind himself, "but there are evening variants made specifically for preventing hangovers in the morning, and a pepper-up would not do well for someone about to head to bed."

"Huh," Harry said stupidly. "Smart." He lowered the vial and cradled it in his palm, looking at the man through his eyelashes. "Well, good night, I suppose. Thank you for accompanying me." Before the man could reply, Harry headed inside, closing the door behind him and resting the back of his head against the wood. His eyes slipped shut of their own accord and he took a stabilising breath or two before walking to his bed, clumsily changing out of - of Tom's robe. Right. - and into his own night robe, a soft one. He sat down on the edge of his bed and wrestled the stopper from the vial, downing it in one before he dropped the empty vial and stopper on the nightstand and settled against his pillows.

His eyes drooped soon enough, a wave of fatigue hitting him, and then he was out like a light, breathing softly through the night while the sheer curtains danced in the moonlight under an intangible breeze.

Harry awoke to a pleasantly numb sensation in his skull- the remnants of a headache he couldn't quite remember. He'd drunk a lot the night before, he recalled, and had conversed with someone whose face he couldn't bring to mind... but no matter, now. Harry slipped out of bed on unsteady feet and took a moment to orient himself. The sunlight was bright, but not overly so, and Harry glanced at his nightstand in quiet thanks, startled when the vial was gone. Perhaps one of the maids had retrieved it before he had woken.

Harry dressed himself quietly before he went out on his balcony to feel the fresh morning air on his face. It was fast approaching summer, so he wasn't surprised to feel lukewarm humid air instead of its usual chill, closing his eyes for a moment. In the back of his mind he went over the time. At ten he'd have lessons with Bartemius Crouch Jr, and Harry woke somewhat consistently around eight, providing the potion hadn't disturbed that rhythm. Harry checked the time absently, casting a _tempus_ into the warm morning air. Eight o-two. He'd roused earlier than usual.

He went back inside, rolling his shoulders to work out the tension in them and settled in front of his vanity, leaning in close to the mirror and checking his reflection. His skin wasn't too upset from his little traipse with alcohol the night before, and the bags under his eyes were no worse than before, so he let it be after rubbing some blood into his cheeks and stepped outside his room, moving downstairs for breakfast.

"Oh, Harry!" his mother said brightly when he entered the dining room, rising from her place to greet him. He kissed her on the cheek and took his place, after which she sat down again as well, smiling at him. "I hadn't expected you to be awake this early. Tom has gone to discuss some things with his advisors until noon, if you were wondering where he is - he told me you weren't feeling too well last night. I hope you didn't catch the same thing I did," she mused, raising her fork to her lips.

"No, I'm fine," Harry told her after a moment of thought, picking up his own cutlery and starting to cut into his own food. "I'm looking forward to the lessons with Mr Crouch, though. His credentials looked excellent."

"They did," Lily agreed, smiling. "I'm glad Tom was able to find him - I'm relieved to know you won't go bored. Oh," she continued, perking up, "I had a thought a few days ago: why don't we all go to the theatre some time soon? It's been so long since we went, and I'm sure you'd enjoy it. You loved the dancers as a boy."

Harry brightened. "Really? Oh, I'd love to!" Then he paused, considering. "Would Tom have time to attend, do you think? He must be busy."

"I'm sure he can make time," his mother hummed indulgently. "Besides, it's good for our image if we engage with the economy and appreciate the culture. A few hours can't do much harm. So, what do you say? A few weeks from now, once you've settled into the lessons with Mr Crouch?"

"Sounds wonderful," Harry told her warmly. "I look forward to it." He'd missed going to the theatre - they'd meant to do so around Yule, but then James had fallen rather terribly ill and... Harry directed his thoughts elsewhere. The last time he'd gone was when he'd been perhaps thirteen or so, when they'd gone to view Swan Lake. Somehow the producers had gotten a swan animagus to partly transform for scenes during the daytime, leaving her with swan-like features while still being able to move humanly. It was quite impressive; Harry hadn't been able to stop talking about it for weeks after they'd viewed it, much to his parents' amusement.

They finished their meal in comfortable silence before Harry bid his mother good day and went to the rooms that had been designated for his lessons. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tom's so smug. smug little bastard i love him.
> 
> hey wanna go stalk my tumblr and ask me anonymous questions about when they'll finally bonk because you're too shy to show people that you're into this kind of fic? [go ahead! i'm lonely.](https://itsevanffs.tumblr.com/)
> 
> in other new, you can bother me directly at my [discord server!](https://discord.gg/k2zQnuV) i promise i'll reply within 24 hours, which is better than on my tumblr, on which the average waiting time is a literal month! i'm so good at this socialising thing :D which is probably why this fic exists in the first place, but hey!

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so in an attempt to explain the situation to you;
> 
> Lily and James are Harry's biological parents. James is now dead. Tom is James' half-brother, they shared a mother (Merope) but NOT a father! Which is why James, the younger brother, got the throne and Tom didn't, since Tom's parents had no royal lineage :pensive: it's very sad. So Tom is Harry's half-uncle and married to Lily at this point, explaining the pseudo-incest (marrying your dead husband's brother) and the _other_ pseudo incest, which is that Tom essentially gains parental rights over Harry, which would also make this an adoptive father/adoptive son fic? It's really very complicated. The real incest would then be the blood relation between Tom and Harry, aka the uncle/nephew incest.
> 
> Here is my [Discord](https://discord.gg/k2zQnuV), here is my [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/itsevanffs), feel free to yell at me on both platforms. If you want more info, hmu. I'm very eager to spout my worldbuilding to anyone who will listen.


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